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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597581">Greatest of These</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn'>sunstarunicorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It's a Magical Flashpoint [60]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU of Slow Burn, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:29:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,230</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597581</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the cusp of giving up a job and a team he loves, Greg walks away from his latest hot call, leaving his team to save Captain Griggs and his captive.  Then the fire goes out, leaving Parker convinced his team saved the day and more, they don’t need him anymore.  But nothing could be further from the truth as an old wound flares up, with only one cure…the one that just walked away…  AU of Slow Burn</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It's a Magical Flashpoint [60]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Now These Three Things Remain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>spoilers for 04x18: Slow Burn. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the sixtieth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "However Improbable".</p><p>Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own <em>Flashpoint</em>, <em>Harry Potter</em>, <em>Narnia</em>, or <em>Merlin</em>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fire.  Blazing around her; fear licked at her despite her immunity to the raging flames.  Her arms were clasped around a boy, so small and still.  Gone, she was too late <em>again</em>; a little boy was <em>dead</em> and it was <em>all her fault</em>.  She and her fellows carried the boy out, eyes down and grief engulfing her soul.  The boy’s father stood there, desperate hope shining in his eyes, but she…she couldn’t meet his gaze.</p><p>No, to her everlasting shame, she kept her gaze down and <em>let</em> the grieving father piece together the truth.  <em>Let</em> him realize, all on his own, that his <em>son</em> was dead.  The little boy he’d tucked into bed only hours earlier was <em>gone</em>.  Her fault, all her fault.  If only she’d been better, faster, smarter…the child in her arms would still be <em>alive</em>.</p><p>Her perspective shifted; she was two floors up, still in the fire, near a window.  Determination flooded her, determination to get as many people out of the blaze as possible.  Then something caught her eye, something familiar.  She moved closer to the window, eyes narrowing.  Then she spotted <em>him</em> and realization burned even hotter than the flames.  Fury and despair and <em>how-</em>could-<em>he</em> and <em>knowing</em>; this had to <em>end</em>.  Now.</p><p>“I see him!” she screamed.  “Right here!  Outside!  North wall!”</p><p>Then the fire rumbled and the floor beneath her gave; she shrieked as she fell, knowing.  They’d gotten away and more people would <em>die</em>.  Fire surrounded her, burning from the inside out, swallowing her cries for help.</p><p>With a gasp, Alanna Victoria Calvin woke, rolling off her bed and landing on the floor.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Greg Parker didn’t move as his bedroom door opened, opting instead to huddle tighter and pretend he was asleep.  Which he wasn’t.  How could he have <em>done</em> that?  Again?  How could he have <em>betrayed</em> them like that <em>again</em>?  The ‘team sense’ was bad enough, but how could he have <em>abused</em> their trust him in <em>again</em>?  How could he have <em>commanded</em> them, <em>again</em>?  He’d sworn he would <em>never</em> do that again, never, <em>ever</em> use their trust in him <em>against</em> them.</p><p>Trust.  Oh, how he <em>hated</em> that word.  Trust he didn’t deserve, trust he hadn’t <em>earned</em>, trust he’d <em>betrayed</em>.  Guilt and hatred roiled, fueled by shame and treachery.  One tear snuck free, thankfully buried in his pillow.  The sooner he signed that blasted paper, the better.  Inside, the gryphon keened, but the keen was getting softer.  Good.</p><p>“Uncle Greg?”</p><p>He stiffened, but didn’t move or respond.  After what he’d done to his team, to his <em>people</em>, he had nothing left.  Better if she didn’t trust him, better if she went to her brother instead.  Lance was more reliable than <em>he</em> would <em>ever</em> be.</p><p>“Uncle Greg?”  A pleading whimper right on the edge of a bird-like keen.</p><p>And still, Greg Parker remained as he was, refusing to move or acknowledge his niece.  Inside, his heart cried out, but it was better this way.  Better for her, by far, if she learned not to depend on him or trust him.  He wasn’t <em>worthy</em> of that trust – of <em>any</em> trust at all.</p><p>“Uncle Greg, <em>please</em>…”</p><p>Two tears slipped down, but Greg didn’t twitch.  When the door shut behind her, he curled tighter and let the grief flow down his cheeks.  It was better this way, even if it hurt like heck.  He didn’t <em>deserve</em> a family any more.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Captain Simon Griggs sat at Gordie’s bedside, grateful his men had gone back to the fire hall.  Blue-gray eyes regarded his fallen friend from beneath wiry gray hair and a haggard countenance.  Normally sharp features sagged in the weight of the future his teammate faced after a fall through two stories in the middle of a fire.  Broken legs, burns over forty percent of his body, and that was just for starters.  Simon fought back the tears and resisted the urge to reach for his silver flask.  Gordie deserved better than that from him.</p><p>And that little boy…  A tear leaked through despite his best efforts.  The sooner they caught that firebug, the <em>better</em> in his book.  Too many had already died to that monster.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Lance wrapped himself around his sister, letting her cry herself out on his chest.  Anger burned, anger for the nightmares plaguing his beloved baby sister and anger at their guardian for feigning sleep when Alanna <em>needed</em> him.  He knew his uncle was struggling, but family came first.  Family <em>always</em> came first with Uncle Greg.  Until it didn’t, right when his sister <em>needed</em> him most.</p><p>Maybe…maybe Uncle Greg was getting tired of them?  Tired of having two Wild Mages who needed <em>protection</em> from their own world?  Maybe he wanted to be free, to be with Miss Marina?  Inside, his inner gryphon keened, but he had to be strong.  For his sister.</p><p>“Wanna talk about it, sis?” he asked as the tears slowed.</p><p>She shook her head and clung even harder to him, shaking.</p><p>“Easy, sis, easy,” Lance whispered.  “I got you, I got you.  We’re gonna get through this, I promise.  You and me.”</p><p>He hugged her tighter, musing to himself.  If Uncle Greg was getting sick of them, well…maybe it was time.  Maybe it was time he started figuring out what came next and how to keep his sister safe, just like he’d promised their father.  After all, he was seventeen now.  Plenty old enough to take care of his sister by himself, especially if their uncle didn’t want them anymore.  His heart objected strenuously, insisting that Uncle Greg would <em>never</em> abandon them, but…  He just wasn’t sure any more and that scared the teenager.  Scared him badly.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>The last call.  He should’ve been relieved, relieved that it was so close to being over, but he was just…numb.  Within him, his magic whined, unused to the ‘team sense’ being off, as it had been for close a week now.  Greg deliberately ignored the fact that it had <em>not</em>, in fact, been off the night before, just as he’d scrubbed all hints of moisture from his face before and after his morning shower.  As his pen moved across the last of the paperwork, he heard Spike and Lou enter the atrium, the first of his teammates to arrive from the garage – he’d slipped away, letting his team handle putting the trucks to bed.</p><p>“Nice job, Team One,” Winnie called.</p><p>Spike headed straight for her, a light in his eyes that Greg knew well.  Funny how neither one of them even realized it; his heart ached to know he wouldn’t be around when they <em>did</em> figure it out.  “Winnie, time check,” the bomb tech requested.</p><p>“One hour till the end of shift,” the dispatcher reported at once.</p><p>“You got me down for pasta, right?”</p><p>Winnie nodded, double-checking her picnic list.  “Yeah, pasta salad.”</p><p>“Two bottles of homemade red?” Spike asked.</p><p>“Yeah,” Winnie confirmed.  “Ed, got you.  Sam, got you.  Lou?”</p><p>The less-lethal specialist grinned.  “I’ve got the beer.”  Glancing over at his boss, he added, “And the root beer.”</p><p>“Boss?” Winnie asked.</p><p>Greg looked up from his paperwork, absently grateful it was done.  One last thing done.  Almost, almost there.  Almost free.  “Yeah?”</p><p>His team and his dispatcher were looking at him, expectant and waiting.  Pity he wasn’t coming.  No, his plans involved wrestling with a certain stubborn ‘team sense’ until it was locked down tighter than Fort Knox.  Best he steered clear of his soon-to-be former teammates until then.</p><p>Then Eddie intervened, whacking him lightly in the chest and saying, “Give me a hand in the gun cage.  Come on.”</p><p>He let Ed chivvy him away, fresh shame bubbling in his gut as he heard the conversation behind him.</p><p>“He’s coming, right?” Jules murmured.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s supposed to get the call from the chief at 7:30,” Winnie murmured back.</p><p>“He’d better be coming,” Spike put in.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Pain, anguish, regret.  All of it squeezing her inside, but she didn’t understand.  Her magic was writhing, crying out, but <em>why</em>?  Uncle Greg was having trouble, sure, but this didn’t <em>feel</em> like him.  This didn’t feel like <em>anyone</em> she knew.  How had her magic latched onto a <em>stranger</em>?  And <em>why</em>?</p><p>Alanna whimpered to herself, wishing she hadn’t talked her brother into going to school without her.  Wishing for her uncle, for his solid, strong arms wrapped around her, holding the monsters back.</p><p>Tears slid down her face, dripping onto the pillow clutched between her chest, arms, and knees.  <em>Make it stop,</em> she begged.  <em>Make it stop, make it all better.</em></p><p>A keen welled up.</p><p>
  <em>I want my Mom…</em>
</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Jules looked up as Sam joined her, bringing her a water bottle.  “Thanks,” she whispered, taking the offering.  Glancing out at her team, regret welled up.  Not for him, never for him, but…</p><p>In spite of <em>everything</em>, they’d been found out.  Despite their teammates agreeing to keep their secret, it had fallen to nothing.  Ed had been right, <em>Sarge</em> had been right.  It only took one slipup and then there was a lifetime of regrets.  At least, she reflected ruefully, no one had died.  Just their team and their team’s trust in them.  Softly, she observed, “I guess that was our last call for Team One as we know it.”</p><p>“We don’t know that,” Sam argued.</p><p>The brunette tossed him a glare.  “Yes, we do,” she countered.  “The chief made his decision.”</p><p>“And Dr. Toth is making a personal appeal to overturn it.”</p><p>Yeah.  As if <em>that</em> was going to work.  “It’s the chief we’re talking about,” Jules pointed out, though she kept one last thought to herself.  Even if it <em>did</em> work, there was still Sarge…</p><p>Sam looked down, accepting her argument.  “Yeah, well, not long now.”</p><p>A wistful sigh, regrets gleaming.</p><p>“We still haven’t talked about it,” Sam murmured.</p><p>“Which one of us leaves.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s me,” Sam offered.  “I’m ready to lead a team of my own.”</p><p>And he would never lead, not on Team One.  Even when – <em>if</em> – she and Sam earned back the trust they’d destroyed, Team One would not vote for Sam.  Wordy would make team leader before <em>Sam</em> did.  Quiet, Jules pointed out the other problem.  “Yeah, but there’s no vacancies for SRU team leaders.”</p><p>Silence fell between them, the reality before them inevitable and overwhelming.  In choosing each other, they’d lost the <em>team</em>.  Broken trust and faith with those they cared about most.  It hurt more than any punishment, for <em>this</em> punishment came from within, from their own conscience.  For in choosing each other, they’d also left their Sergeant to take the fall <em>for</em> them.</p><p>And that was the bitterest irony of all.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Fury, rage, protectiveness.  So like her uncle, but not.  Her magic pulled at her, crying out for her to <em>go</em> to the stranger’s aid, but she stayed where she was.  It wasn’t her problem and she had enough to deal with anyway.</p><p>More tears fell, but she resisted the urge to close her eyes.  <em>They</em> waited behind her lids, accusing gazes boring into her before the Fiendfyre engulfed them.  Just like that little boy…just like the stranger’s friend.  Though how she knew that, she didn’t know.  She just did.</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Greg leaned against the wall of the gun cage, trying to ignore Eddie’s concerned gaze boring into his back.  Scarlet power writhed, trying to push the ‘team sense’ back on, and he shoved it down again.  No more, no more.  Never again.  He’d taken his last call, he was done.  Now maybe he could start piecing what was left of him back together.</p><p>“How long we been doing this family picnic now?” Ed asked nonchalantly.</p><p>It took a moment to refocus, then Greg replied, “A long time.”</p><p>“Remember why we started it?”</p><p>Of course he did, but he wasn’t going to let Ed goad him that easily.  Even as he knew what Eddie was leading up to, Greg remarked, “Yeah, seemed like a good idea at the time.”</p><p>“Yeah, it was your idea.”</p><p>Of course that was where his friend was going.  Trying to remind him of the good times, the good things in his life, trying to get him to stop focusing on the bad.  Greg appreciated it, really, he did, but some things just ran too deep.  Some pain couldn’t be mitigated or cast aside; some betrayals lasted a <em>lifetime</em>.</p><p>“You and the kids are coming, right?”</p><p>Not a single word escaped, fresh shame and grief bubbling.  Grief for what he’d <em>had</em>, right up until that blasted <em>gryphon</em> had taken it all away.  Broken, he was broken, with jagged edges a mile deep and pain that ran through every part of his soul.  The sooner he got away, the better.  The sooner <em>they</em> moved on, the better it would be.  Then they’d be free…or at least…as free as he could make them.</p><p>From the other side of the gun cage, Ed tried again.  “Look, Greg, I know that Toth gave you a week to decide what to do with your suspension papers and that time is up.”  A pause, waiting for a response.  Then Eddie closed in, forcing Parker to look up at him.  “So tell me you burned them.”</p><p>“Eddie, it’s not that simple.”</p><p>Dismay ran across the team leader’s face, dismay that Greg saw even as he turned and left the gun cage…for the last time.  Eddie didn’t give up, though, he followed, getting close enough to hiss, “What do you mean, it’s not that simple?”</p><p>Hardly turning his head, Greg replied, “It’s my decision, Eddie.  I’m working it out my way.”</p><p>Inside, his ‘team sense’ throbbed, as though Ed was trying to batter down the barrier between them.  “Greg, you let yourself get suspended, you know what happens to your career?”</p><p>As if his <em>career</em> mattered with what he’d done to his <em>team</em>, his <em>people</em>.  Sharp, the Sergeant retorted, “I’m not thinking about my career right now.”</p><p>The alarm wailed in the background and Greg fought the urge to cry.  No, not again.  He wanted this to be <em>done</em>, <em>over</em>.  He had nothing left to give, but that didn’t matter.  It never mattered.</p><p>“Team One, hot call,” Winnie called.  “Gear up.  Shots fired at St. Pat’s.”</p><p>Nothing for it…one last call.  One last call and then he was well and truly <em>done</em>.  “Let’s go,” Greg announced.  “Jules, you’re with me.”</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>He drove one of the trucks, Jules beside him; they’d left the Command Truck behind, but a uni could bring it if need be.  Spike and Lou had their gear after all, the latest technology from Gringotts, fully certified to work in both worlds without a hiccup.</p><p>Over the comm, Winnie reported, “Two cars leaving the scene, subject’s car is an old model green sedan, partial marker Alpha-Tango-Yankee-X-ray, headed east on Queen.  Second car is a gray SUV.  Nurse said he was a firefighter, he’s in pursuit.”</p><p>“Who’s our hero?” Eddie asked.</p><p>“District Three, Fire Hall Eleven.  Still waiting on a name.  Apparently, there was an attack on one of the injured members of his crew.”</p><p>Internally, Greg winced, imagining his <em>own</em> team in such a position.  Imagining the <em>rage</em> he’d feel if one of <em>his</em> was attacked by a subject while gravely injured.  Fingers clenched around the steering wheel, but his voice remained calm and steady.  “Eddie, we’ll head to the hospital, get intel on what went down.”</p><p>“Copy,” Ed agreed.  “Lou, Spike, Word, Sam, with me.”</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>It was easier with just facts to focus on.  Only a witness and Jules, a pen and paper sufficing to note down the important bits.  No messy emotional connections or tricky history to navigate.  Not that he planned on negotiating again.  Nope, Jules could have it and all the more power to her.  He’d even given her the lead in the interview.</p><p>“Who fired the shot?” she asked the nurse, brunette with an actual nurse hat and slightly taller than his constable.</p><p>She was trembling, ever so slightly, but her demeanor and attitude were calm and professional.  “A tall man in a baseball cap, Caucasian.  He slipped into the patient’s room.”</p><p>“And who’s the patient?” Greg inquired, pen at the ready.</p><p>He noted another woman moving in, dark hair reaching the collar of her suit, but styled away from her face and behind both ears.  Sculpted brows, slightly snub nose, and the typical pink lipstick.  Her dark eyes regarded them from within a face that hinted at Asian somewhere in her background, the assessing gaze quite familiar to the veteran cop.</p><p>Hazel switched back to the nurse as she said, “Gordon Park, Fire House Eleven.  His team was on a call, Roncy Village.  He fell through two floors last night, he was severely burned.”</p><p>The newcomer inserted herself with a smooth, “Beth Topp, arson investigation.”</p><p>Ah.  Greg met her gaze, automatically judging and assessing her.  Professional, near or at the top of her career, and determined.  Careful makeup and eyeliner, so she wasn’t on the front lines very often, though he had little doubt the woman could get her hands dirty when needed.</p><p>“Sergeant Parker, SRU,” he introduced himself.  With a brief gesture to his left, he added, “Jules Callaghan.”</p><p>Jules nodded to the investigator, then turned back to the nurse.  “What happened next?”</p><p>“Simon, Gordon’s captain, he went to get a cup of coffee.  He came back, he saw a guy strangling Gord in his bed.  There was a fight and the guy pulled a gun.”</p><p>“And Simon went after him?”</p><p>“Yeah,” the nurse confirmed.</p><p>“Who attacks a firefighter in their bed?” Jules questioned, Greg sharing that confusion.  Firefighters usually didn’t have any enemies to speak of.  Not like cops.</p><p>Topp’s expression went hard.  Angry.  “I’m guessing the guy who started the fire.”</p><p>Unless of course there was an arsonist on the loose.  So much for an easy call.  He glanced over at Jules as she lifted her hand to her radio.  “You hearing this, Wordy?”</p><p>“Copy,” the brunet confirmed.  “Unis got a visual on the chase and they’re running lights, south on Cherry.”</p><p>“On our way,” Jules replied before looking up at Topp.  “Why don’t you come with us, fill us in as we go?”</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>The three officers headed back to the truck, moving as quickly as possible.  With a murderous arsonist on the loose, every second counted.  Once at the truck, Greg swung up into the driver’s seat, leaving Jules in shotgun and Topp in the back.  Less than a minute later, they squealed out of the parking lot, sirens already wailing again.  Over the comm, the SRU pair heard their teammates’ arrival, Winnie filling in the destination for the enroute truck.  A boatyard; mentally, Parker grimaced and gave thanks that <em>Eddie</em> was running tactics, not him.</p><p>As he hit the highway, he shifted part of his attention to their information source in the backseat.  “You remember the Parkdale arsons?” she asked them.</p><p>“Six fires in the last month,” Greg filled in at once.</p><p>Anger touched her voice.  “That was just last month,” Topp informed them.  “I’m been after this guy since March.”</p><p>“Since March?” Jules echoed, caught off guard.</p><p>Bitterness joined the anger.  “Scum knows what he’s doing.”  She let that soak in, then continued explaining.  “A lot of firebugs come to watch the burn, but we’d hadn’t caught that break until last night.”</p><p>Jules caught on at once.  “Gord saw him?”</p><p>The arson investigation nodded.  “He was on the second floor, by the window.  His guys heard him yell, ‘I see him.  Right here.’  Then the floor caved in and whoever it was was gone.”</p><p>“You went to the hospital to find out who it was,” Jules breathed.</p><p>Topp confirmed her theory, though sorrow and grief touched her voice.  “Assuming he regained consciousness.”</p><p>Greg cringed internally, memories of his nephew’s accident flying through his head.  As bad as his job could sometimes be, he didn’t think he could take being a firefighter.  He had enough ghosts and regrets as it was.</p><p>Over the comm, he heard brief snatches of his teammates chasing their subject, but kept his focus on the road, nudging the accelerator down.  The sooner they could bring this to a conclusion, the better.  Stop this situation before it got even worse.  Ahead of him, the boatyard grew in his vision until they’d arrived and he was sliding the truck in next to several patrol cars.  As he and his two passengers swung out of the truck, he turned towards Topp.</p><p>“What about Simon?”</p><p>“He’s the cap,” she replied.  “He’s taking it harder than anyone.”</p><p>Not good, not good at all.  “We gotta get him out of this call.”</p><p>“Not gonna be easy,” Topp countered, unconcerned.  “This scum’s taken lives.”</p><p>Even more reason to get Simon out of the call as swiftly as possible, particularly when the firefighter was unarmed, angry, and grieving.  Gunshots rang out; Greg pulled his sidearm, already scanning for any potential targets.  “Eddie.”</p><p>“Spike.  Sam.”</p><p>“Right here,” Sam called.</p><p>“Police!” Spike yelled.</p><p>Over the comm, their voices blended together, even as gryphon hearing caught every word.</p><p>“Drop your weapon!”</p><p>“SRU!  SRU, down on the ground!  Get down!  Get down!”</p><p>“Drop your weapon!”</p><p>Another shot rang out, dragging gryphon instincts to the fore; Greg <em>shoved</em> them back down without breaking stride.</p><p>“Taking fire,” Spike reported.  “Civilians at risk.”</p><p>“Ed, we need backup,” Lou agreed.  “Need it now.”  Then his voice raised, yelling, “Simon, back off!  Get away, now!”</p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Darkness twisted, pulling her in; she cried out, fighting.  No, no more dreams, no more nightmares.  Even in her sleep, her expression reflected her distress.  Then she gasped, feeling a phantom arm around her throat, sensing a gun angling for her head, frustration sparking even as she looked towards a boat and saw Uncle Spike and Uncle Lou staring right back at her, weapons at the ready.</p><p>Magic twined around her and she fought her way free of the nightmare, pushing herself up.  The stranger her magic was connected to.  He was face-to-face with <em>Team One</em>.</p><p><em>Please, make it stop,</em> she begged her magic.  <em>I don’t want this, I don’t </em>know<em> him.</em>  Tears slid down her face because she could feel it; her magic didn’t <em>care</em>…all her magic cared about was trying to help some random stranger she’d never even <em>met</em> and never mind what <em>she</em> needed.</p><p>The teenager huddled up again on the couch, clutching her pillow and crying.  Her brother was at school; her uncle didn’t care anymore.  And her magic…her magic didn’t care either…</p><p>
  <em>I want my Mom.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Faith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Drop the weapon!  Put it down now!” Ed yelled, moving in on the arsonist that held a firefighter at gunpoint.</p>
<p>Beside him, Wordy fairly vibrated outrage.  “Do it now!”</p>
<p>“Put it down!” Ed repeated, feeling Sam on his opposite side; from their cover, Lou and Spike made their own move.</p>
<p>“Put it down!” the bomb tech ordered.</p>
<p>“Drop it!” Ed snarled.</p>
<p>Then the man broke, shoving the firefighter down and running; he disappeared into the landlocked boats before any of them could fire.  Team One moved, already in pursuit, though Ed paused at the downed man.  “Stay down, Simon.  Stay down.  We got him.”</p>
<p>Behind him, he heard more arrivals.  “I got him,” Greg said.  “Go.”</p>
<p>Ed didn’t question his boss.  “Jules, with me, let’s move.”</p>
<p>As he ran, he spared a moment to reach inwards, sharply rapping against the ‘team sense’ in unspoken demand.  Enough of this, time for Greg to remember what made their team the <em>best</em> team in the SRU – and for all that Ed had resented the anchors at first, the ‘team sense’ was <em>part</em> of what <em>made</em> them the best.  And there was no one he trusted more to have his back, come hell or high water.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Greg flinched internally at Ed’s silent demand.  As Captain Griggs made his way back to his feet, the Sergeant glanced around at the maze of boats and gave in.  The ‘team sense’ hummed as it came online, unfurling within him and reaching out to his teammates.  If nothing else, he could act as a relay of sorts to help his team stay connected as they searched for the arsonist.  ‘Team sense’ sorted, he turned his attention to the grim and furious man trying to get past him.</p>
<p>“We gotta take you back to the truck, captain.”  He might be a miserable failure of a cop, but he wasn’t about to let the unarmed firefighter stay involved in an active hot call.</p>
<p>“No, I’m not going anywhere,” the other man spat, pushing against him when he refused to move.  Blue-gray flashed indignation and wiry curls bounced in spite of their short length.</p>
<p>Greg met that gaze, numb, but determined.  “Hey.  Come on, you’ve been on a heck of a tough call, you’ve been up all night.”</p>
<p>Embers roared into new flame.  “Listen to me,” Griggs hissed.  “You know what he did?  Huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I do.”</p>
<p>Disbelief, fury, anguish.  Staring him right in the face, <em>demanding</em> he reach out.  He couldn’t.  “No, you don’t,” Griggs snapped.  “Did you see that kid?  Huh?”</p>
<p>If Griggs thought that was enough to make him move, he was wrong.  He’d seen dead kids, murdered by their <em>own</em> classmates, wept over his niece in those brief, horrible moments he’d thought she’d been <em>burned</em> to death.  Burned to nothing – not even ash left.  Heck of a thing, Fiendfyre – <em>Griggs</em> was the one who didn’t have a clue.</p>
<p>Level hazel met enraged blue-gray, refusing to give an inch.  “Did you see his Dad waiting outside the fire?”  Low, furious, grieving, even as sarcasm joined in.  “I don’t remember seeing you there last night.  Did you see us carry his boy outside and he didn’t even know that it was his son?”</p>
<p>Greg sternly controlled his flinch.  The day of the shooting at the school, Ed had tried to send him home with Alanna, but he’d insisted on going along for the notifications.  And the <em>look</em> in the drunken father’s eyes when he found out there was no <em>body</em> to bury…  Too close, it had been too close.  Too much like Lance…</p>
<p>Simon kept going, fresh horror draping each painful, wrenching word.  “He didn’t even know there was a kid.  I wanted to die rather than look him in the eye, but I couldn’t do that.  I had to watch him piece it together.  I had to watch him figure it out by himself.”</p>
<p>Parker held still, his own soul churning, anguish crying out.  Ghosts…too many ghosts…</p>
<p>“And you want me to stay here when I should be over there ripping out that sick monster’s throat?  Is that what you’re saying?  Gawd.”</p>
<p>The connection forged, despite all his best intentions.  He reached out, unable to help himself.  “Look at me,” Greg urged.  “Look at me.”  Intensity rose, pushing numbness aside for one precious instant.  “I know, okay?  Hey, I’ve been there too.  I know.”</p>
<p>Simon backed down, then jerked in realization.  “No, I gotta get back to the hospital.”</p>
<p>Not a good idea, not in his state of mind.  Greg shook his head and countered, “No, I think you need to get home, Captain.  You got someone I can call?”</p>
<p>“No.”  A lifetime of pain and regret in that one word.  He knew that, too.</p>
<p>“Someone on your crew?” the Sergeant prodded.</p>
<p>“Sergeant, he’s my friend, okay?  I gotta be there for him.”</p>
<p>If it were one of <em>his</em>…  Parker forced himself to think past that, to stop comparing himself to the firefighter.  “Let me call someone at the fire house.”</p>
<p>“No, look.”  Simon reached out, grabbing at him.  “Listen,” he pleaded.  “Listen to me.  This happened on my watch.”  The words resonated, striking a chord.  “Now, you said you know.  Okay, so you understand, you understand that, right, Sergeant?  You understand what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>It was wrong, he <em>knew</em> that and he shouldn’t <em>do</em> this.  But…  What right had he to judge?  He was a cop on his way out and he knew what it was to put your team first, always.  “Yeah, I do.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Simon breathed.  “Then you let me go back to the hospital.”  Intensity flared.  “Please.”</p>
<p>His gut writhed, screaming at him, and he pushed it away.  “Okay,” he agreed.  “You got a cell phone on you?”</p>
<p>Pulling out his cell phone, Simon confirmed, “Yeah.”</p>
<p>With a nod, Greg tugged his own cell phone free, tapping the buttons to add Simon’s number to his contact list.  “You just keep it close,” he ordered.  “I’m gonna check in on you, all right?”  Gesturing towards where the cars were parked, he added, “Come on.”</p>
<p>Simon hesitated, hate flashing.  Then he growled, “Just make sure you bring me his head, all right?” and stalked towards his SUV.</p>
<p>As they walked, Greg was grateful that Simon was in front of him.  It meant the firefighter missed the grimace that crossed his face as the ‘team sense’ lurched.</p>
<p>Then…</p>
<p><em>‘Why’d he go that way?  Wait…is that </em>his<em> boat?’</em></p>
<p>What?</p>
<p>“In here,” Lou called.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘We got him.’</em>
</p>
<p>What on <em>Earth</em>?</p>
<p>“Okay,” Ed rumbled.  “Spike, Jules, move in.  Word, Sam, take left; Lou, on my six.  Let’s move.”</p>
<p><em>‘That’s it, buddy…just keep hiding in your hole…  Just another day on the job and then maybe I can pin Greg to the </em>wall<em> and get him to </em>talk<em> to me.’</em></p>
<p>Oh, not good, not good, not good at all.  Of <em>all</em> the times for the ‘team sense’ to gain a new ability, it just <em>had</em> to be now and it just <em>had</em> to be one of the <em>few</em> things that Ed was <em>afraid</em> of.  Even worse, if he shut the ‘team sense’ down <em>now</em>, Eddie would raise a hue and cry and find out what was going on <em>anyway</em>.</p>
<p>Greg forced his attention away from the ‘team sense’, gritting his teeth against the swamp of  foreign thoughts cascading through his head.  Vision blurred, but he shook his head and pushed away whoever was accidently sending him a telepathic visual.  Instead, he watched as Simon got in his SUV and drove away, gut twinging and spasming.</p>
<p>Turning towards Topp, he remarked, “I’m worried about him.”</p>
<p>Her expression was unconcerned, though her words gave him a near heart attack.  “He’s been through hell the last six months, he can handle another day.”</p>
<p>Too similar, too much alike.  Too much like <em>him</em>.</p>
<p>“Boss, we got him,” Ed reported.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Satisfaction burned through him; they had the subject cornered and soon enough, they’d have him in cuffs and be able to put this call to bed.  And <em>then</em>, he and Greg were going to have a long, long talk that ended with those blasted suspension papers in shreds.</p>
<p>By the hull of the boat their subject was hiding in, the <em>Rogue Mary</em>, Jules was covering Spike as he used their thermal scanner to pinpoint the subject’s position.  The bomb tech shifted another step, inspecting the screen, then nodded. “Right here.”</p>
<p>Well then.  Subject cornered, but unfortunately cornered on his home turf.  “We go in hard, he’s gonna start shooting.”</p>
<p>“I’d say break the window,” Sam growled, “flash bang him but given his hobby…”</p>
<p>“Who knows what he’s got in there,” Ed finished.</p>
<p>“The whole boat could blow,” Wordy agreed, a tinge of worry in his gaze.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the team leader breathed.</p>
<p>“Gonna have to talk him out,” Lou concluded, earning nods from his teammates.</p>
<p>As Ed mentally organized his tac plan, he heard Greg and that investigator, Topp, coming up on their rear.  Smug, he tapped against the ‘team sense’ and felt Greg flinch.  Blue narrowed.  Something was wrong, but what?  Switching his focus back to his planning, he ordered, “Okay, Sam, Word.”</p>
<p>“I got the back,” Wordy confirmed, reading his best friend, just like always.</p>
<p>“Jules, I need you,” Greg called.</p>
<p>“I’ll run the plates,” Spike put in.  “See if I can get us a name.”</p>
<p>The team leader felt another surge of satisfaction.  Open, shut, then he could get back to the <em>real</em> problem of the day.  Because letting Greg take that suspension…he couldn’t do it.  Not without fighting as hard as he could.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>With an outsider present and a volatile subject nearby, Greg couldn’t afford even the brief minute it would take to round up his team and inform them of what was going on.  He therefore tabled the issue and used his magic to erect a temporary barricade that would keep him from ‘hearing’ any more of his teammates’ thoughts, but <em>not</em> shut down the ‘team sense’.  In the time it took him to do that, Jules joined him and Topp behind a handy nearby rowboat.</p>
<p>Once she’d arrived, Topp informed them, “The firebug’s lit at least 24 fires since March.”</p>
<p>“He’s hard to crack,” Greg observed, though something…twinged.  March?  That was when his niece had started having on again, off again nightmares, the latest of which had been…  His blood ran cold.  Last night.</p>
<p>Unaware of the Sergeant’s whirling thoughts, Topp continued briefing her colleagues.  “First, we thought it was an up spike in accidental fires, there was no pattern that said serial arson.”</p>
<p>“What do you usually look for?” Jules asked.</p>
<p>“Techniques, tools, materials in common, or profiling by target patterns.  But on both counts, this guy was all over the map.”</p>
<p>Greg frowned at that.  If serial arsonists were anything like serial killers, then most of them had a certain…fantasy…they were trying to re-enact.  To deliberately break pattern…that told <em>him</em> that the fantasy wasn’t as important as the damage.  Working as hard as possible to be uncatchable, all in the name of starting <em>more</em> fires, causing <em>more</em> damage, and taking <em>more</em> lives.</p>
<p>Over the comm, Spike announced, “The car is registered to Andrew Hammond.”</p>
<p>Ed ran with it.  Raising his voice, he called, “Andrew Hammond.  My name’s Ed Lane, with the Police Strategic Response Unit.”</p>
<p>A grim, “Got it covered,” came from Sam.  Scorpio shot ready to go.</p>
<p>“Andrew, nobody needs to get hurt here today.”</p>
<p>Greg didn’t think their subject was listening; from what he could hear, it sounded like their subject was ramping up for a siege.  Catching Eddie’s eye, he shook his head slowly.</p>
<p>Ed returned the gesture with a tip of his chin.  “Andrew,” he called.  “I just need you to open that door slowly and put your weapons down.”</p>
<p>Blue darted to Greg; the Sergeant listened a moment longer, then shook his head again.</p>
<p>The team leader considered, then a gleam appeared.  “Sam, I’m gonna need you to cover me.”</p>
<p>“Copy.”</p>
<p>“Word, I got an idea.”</p>
<p>Topp’s words drew Greg back to the briefing.  “We mapped all the accidental fires in Parkdale.  They’re evenly spaced, three blocks apart.”</p>
<p>Both brows rose.  “To throw you off geo-profiling where he lives?” Greg clarified.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Topp confirmed.</p>
<p>“Guys, this isn’t jelling for me.”</p>
<p>One brow arched even higher as Parker turned towards his bomb tech.  “How’s that, Spike?” Jules asked.</p>
<p>Spike’s report was succinct.  “Andrew’s got a grade nine education, spotty employment record, he’s been in and out of jail, his crimes aren’t exactly what you’d call sophisticated.  He’s got no arson on the record.”</p>
<p>The negotiators absorbed the information, then Jules questioned, “Okay, so how does a guy like this stay a step ahead of arson investigators for 24 fires?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Greg agreed.  “Arsonists usually work solo.  Is there a chance he’s got an accomplice?”  <em>Or </em>is<em> the accomplice?</em></p>
<p>Topp blinked, then remarked, “It’s not common, but it happens.”</p>
<p>Suspicion and instinct twined within him.  Leaning forward, Greg pressed his theory.  “I mean, somebody who does know fires and geo-profiling and accelerants.  Someone in the business.”</p>
<p>“A firefighter,” Jules concluded, earning them both a furious, indignant glare.</p>
<p>Greg’s professional mask dropped into place, his tone gentle as he said, “Look, I’m sorry to ask you this, but we gotta look under every rock.”</p>
<p>Topp’s glare burned into them.  “Not one of us,” she hissed.  “No way.”</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>She was at a hospital, but, for once, not in <em>his</em> shoes.  As if <em>his</em> meeting Team One had been some sort of cue to her magic, she was drifting along behind <em>him</em>, in <em>his</em> wake.  Pulled along by the connection between them, a connection <em>she</em> didn’t want and <em>he</em> didn’t know about.  Taking a moment to study the stranger, she was surprised by how similar he looked to her uncle.  Not in looks, but in his demeanor and in the burdens that weighed him down.  She had a feeling that if he and her uncle ever met, they’d find kindred spirits in each other.  In all the <em>wrong</em> ways.</p>
<p>Looking up at his destination, she blinked, caught off guard by the nurse and the uniformed officer.  Not anyone she knew, but still.  What was a cop doing outside the door of an injured firefighter?</p>
<p>“He just came to,” the nurse informed her stranger.  “He was asking for you.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” the haggard man replied.</p>
<p>As he pushed past, she heard the nurse tell the uniform, “It’s his captain.”</p>
<p>Inside the room, she gasped, jerking back in horror.  The man on the bed was a living mummy in white gauze and tubes going <em>everywhere</em>.  She could practically <em>feel</em> the pain he was in, despite all the painkillers he was <em>surely</em> on.  No, no, no, she didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to see any more.</p>
<p>This was <em>private</em>, this was <em>personal</em>, and she felt like a Peeping Tom as her magic refused to release her from her latest <em>waking nightmare</em>.  She sobbed, crying out for her brother and uncle, but couldn’t block out the sound.</p>
<p>“Hey, Gord.  I’m here.  It’s me.  I’m right here, buddy, I’m right here.”</p>
<p>“Hey.”  Rasping, broken, and <em>no,</em> she didn’t want to <em>be</em> here!</p>
<p>“Hey.  How you doing in there, huh?  You should see yourself.  I think you did it this time to yourself, buddy.”</p>
<p>“They didn’t know I was listening.”</p>
<p>She froze, even as her stranger asked, “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Tears threatened in the injured man’s voice, kept back only by his severe condition and determination to impart his information.  “I’m gonna lose both my feet, lose my hand.  Skin grafts over 40 percent of my body.  Painkillers for life.”  Bitterness and loss rang.  “And for the rest of her life, Sharon’s gonna be babysitting a scrap of meat.”</p>
<p>Her stranger leaned forward, his words so much like her uncle’s that she wept even harder.  “Gord, listen to me.  We’re gonna get through this, I swear, okay?  Me and you.”</p>
<p>“I saw the firebugs.”  Both listeners froze.  “There’s two.  We know one of them.  I’ll tell you who he is.”  A chill ran up her back.  “Simon, you gotta promise.”</p>
<p><em>No, don’t!</em> she tried to scream.  <em>Don’t promise!</em></p>
<p>“I promise anything, you name it.”</p>
<p>In the background, the invisible watcher curled in on herself, trembling and begging her magic once more to release her.  It refused.</p>
<p>“I need you to make sure that Sharon gets on with the rest of her life,” the man on the bed rasped.  “And Tim and Ricky, I need you to make them think that I died on the job.”</p>
<p>Her stranger, Simon, stared at his friend, refusing to comprehend.  “Gordon, what are you saying?”</p>
<p>“You’re the only one I can ask.”</p>
<p><em>No, no, no.</em>  Her soul shrieked denials, but she still couldn’t pull away.</p>
<p>“Gordon, I can’t do that, man.  I can’t.  I can’t.”</p>
<p>With an almighty wrench, Alanna pulled herself free, falling off the couch.  Her magic slammed her, condemnations echoing within her, but it couldn’t make her do <em>that</em>.  It couldn’t make her <em>watch someone commit murder.</em></p>
<p>Anguish not her own ripped through her and she clutched her head, whimpering.</p>
<p><em>If I go to him, will you stop?</em> she asked.</p>
<p>Violet lashed at her once more, then considered.  <em>Very well.</em></p>
<p>Lowering her head, Alanna sucked in a breath, then pushed herself upright.  There was no <em>way</em> she was going to flame out in the <em>living room</em>.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Ed perched on the back deck of the <em>Rogue Mary</em>, sidearm at the ready and his teammates watching his back.  Sam still held the high ground with a Scorpio shot, while Lou watched his back from the side and Wordy stood at the ready with their insurance.</p>
<p>Leveling a glare at the closed door into the boat, the team leader announced, “You got one last chance.  Exit the boat with a little dignity and self-respect.  I’m gonna give you ten seconds here.”</p>
<p>Inside, the murderous arsonist yelled back, “Yeah, try it and I’ll take you with me.”</p>
<p>Unconcerned, Ed retorted, “Or we can do this the other way, you come out on your hands and knees.”  So saying, he signaled Wordy; his teammate reached down, resting one hand on his belt.  “One, two…”</p>
<p>“You can’t tell me what to do, pig!”</p>
<p>Oh, nice.  “Okay, ten.”  Ed resisted the urge to smirk as he nodded to Wordy; the brunet yanked a smoke grenade off his belt, pulled the pin, and shoved the grenade up the boat’s tailpipe.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine, jerk.’</em>
</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Greg restrained a flinch as Eddie’s latest train of thought made it through the makeshift blockade.  He really, really needed to talk to his team, but now was <em>still</em> not the time.</p>
<p>“Serial arsonists, they start young, right?” Jules asked Topp.</p>
<p>“If it’s excitement-motivated or vandalism-motivated, yeah.”</p>
<p>Jules considered a moment.  “Okay, Spike, why don’t you see if you can get Andrew’s youth records unsealed.  Maybe he had a partner in crime.”</p>
<p>Inside, his gut churned, unease growing by the second.  “I’m gonna call Simon, see if Gord came to.”</p>
<p>As he pulled out his phone, he heard the subject coughing, yanking down his barricade, only to stumble out into Eddie’s waiting grip.  “Down on the ground now!” the team leader yelled.  “Hands behind your back!”  The smirk was audible as he added, “Boss, subject secure.”</p>
<p>That bit was fine, but his phone was ringing…and ringing and dear <em>Aslan</em>, what had he <em>done</em>?  Forcing the anguish down, he lowered the phone and turned to Topp.  “Simon’s not picking up.  I told him to keep his phone close.  Hey, Beth, we’ve got this guy here.  Why don’t you go back to the hospital and just check on Simon and Gord?”</p>
<p>She studied him, then nodded.  “Yeah.”</p>
<p>As she left, Greg let the grimace out.  Mostly for his own <em>idiocy</em>, but also…  With the subject down and Topp gone, now he had to tell his team what the ‘team sense’ had done <em>this</em> time.  They hadn’t noticed yet, but they would.  Better that he told them before it cropped up at the worst possible moment.</p>
<p>Out loud, he said, “I don’t know.  I should never have let him go, not in the state he was in.”</p>
<p>Jules gazed up at him, her trust shining clear.  Trust he didn’t deserve.  “Boss, it was the right call,” she soothed.  “If Gord wakes up, he’s gonna wanna see a friend.  It’s okay.”</p>
<p>No, no it wasn’t.  And the sooner he got out of the SRU, the better.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>No one saw the large bird flutter through the window, perching above the activity in the fire hall, keen eyes regarding the busy men cleaning their vehicles and readying their gear for another run.  She was too high to hear them clearly, but that hardly mattered.  Once her stranger arrived, she would hear everything just fine.</p>
<p>As if her thought had summoned him, her magic pulsed, a soft chime reaching her.  Dark and faint – dark with his emotions and faint…  Relief surged – if the connection wasn’t that strong, she could probably break it without hurting either one of them.  Not yet; her magic would fight her, but once this was over, perhaps.</p>
<p>One of the men below spotted her stranger, calling, “Hey.”</p>
<p>The men stopped working, gathering around her stranger, their leader.  Simon.</p>
<p>The firefighter who had spotted Simon first asked, “What’s the word?”</p>
<p>Grief, self-loathing, and anguish lashed at her; she flinched, but held steady.  “We, uh…  Uh, we lost him.”</p>
<p>Sorrow draped the room, the first firefighter lowering his head in defeat.  “Damn it.  He never came to?”</p>
<p>Her crest lifted, waiting for the lie.  But Simon replied honestly.  “No, he did.  I talked to him.”</p>
<p>Another firefighter piped up.  “But it’s over, they got the guy, right?”</p>
<p>Darkness swirled around Simon, unseen by the firefighters, but the phoenix couldn’t miss it.  “There’s two guys,” he rasped out, before glaring at the young firefighter.  “And no, it’s never over.”</p>
<p>The first man drew back.  “Simon.”  The glare lasted another few seconds, then her stranger turned away, towards a small office tucked against the wall.  “Buddy, come on.”</p>
<p>Simon didn’t look back.  “No, I’m done talking.”  He stopped, the bleak despair around him <em>reeking</em>.  “I just wanna be left alone.  Just leave me alone.”</p>
<p>He vanished, but her magic curled around him, tracking him easily.  Lifting up, the violet phoenix fluttered up higher, the fire hall’s shadows concealing her from discovery.  Now, perhaps, she could get her answers – and win her freedom from the bond they unwillingly shared.  She just had to figure out <em>how</em>.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Plan A had gone up in ashes as soon as the subject was down and cuffed.  Until the unis arrived and removed the lout, Greg could not risk informing his team about the change to the ‘team sense’.  At least not <em>aloud</em>.  Which unfortunately left him with the lousiest of Plan B’s, but the discussion could <em>not</em> be delayed any further, much as he hated it.  Not with Eddie broadcasting so ‘loudly’ that his makeshift barricade kept failing at every random thought from the team leader.</p>
<p>With a huff and a mental sigh, Greg cleared his throat and got his teammates’ attention, hands moving in the orders for them to stay calm, no matter what.  Confusion gazed at him, but each of them acknowledged with a nod or a quick hand signal.</p>
<p>Wincing internally, the Sergeant drew in a deep breath…and dropped the bomb.  <em>‘We have a problem.’</em></p>
<p>It took a few seconds for them to figure it out, to register that they’d just heard their Sergeant speak…without him <em>saying</em> a word.</p>
<p>Panic and wordless terror rammed him, forcing him to shut the ‘team sense’ down in pure self-defense.  Gritting his teeth, Greg eased the connections open again, radiating a wordless plea for them to ‘speak’ one at a time.</p>
<p><em>‘Greg.  What the heck?’</em> Eddie demanded.  <em>‘I thought this was just a one-time gig!’</em></p>
<p><em>‘So did I, Eddie,’</em> Parker replied, cringing at the raw terror in Ed’s mental voice.</p>
<p><em>‘What do we do now?’</em> Spike asked, his own fear plain.</p>
<p>Good thing he already had an answer.  <em>‘It’s still the ‘team sense’, Spike.  How did you keep me from feeling all your emotions?’</em></p>
<p><em>‘Come on, guys,’</em> Wordy put in, <em>‘It’s not all bad.  Now we can talk to each other even if the comms get compromised.’</em>  He paused, then added, <em>‘Just don’t get all lovey-dovey on us, Jam.’</em></p>
<p>Lou snickered.  <em>‘Jam, Wordy?  Where’d you come up with that one?’</em></p>
<p>
  <em>‘Hey, if the shoe fits…’</em>
</p>
<p><em>‘Could we </em>stop<em> babbling like idiots in Sarge’s head,’</em> Sam snarked.</p>
<p><em>‘Your head, too, Sam,’</em> Spike pointed out gleefully.</p>
<p>Greg blinked as his teammates promptly started a mental banter war – with <em>him</em> as the central ‘transmission tower’.  The only one – besides himself – staying out was…Eddie.  When he glanced at his team leader, he saw his constable flinching minutely at each new sentence, panic growing the longer their teammates traded telepathic barbs.</p>
<p><em>‘Okay, enough,’</em> he ordered, pressing down on his magic to keep from <em>commanding</em> them.  <em>‘We can figure this out later, but for now, I’m shutting this down.’</em>  Without waiting for any arguments, he forced the ‘team sense’ off, grimly barricading it against any attempts to turn it back on.  The gratitude in Ed’s eyes just made him squirm.</p>
<p>After all, this whole mess was <em>his</em> fault.  And the only reason Eddie hadn’t strung him up…was that blasted, twisted, <em>tainted</em> trust.  Guilt writhed within him, almost a living being, but he forced his attention back onto the call.  Almost, almost done.</p>
<p>One hand moved and Ed nodded, setting aside the telepathy to focus on their subject, still rasping, coughing, and glaring as best he could at the cops around him.  “You ready to talk?” the team leader drawled.</p>
<p>“You want some oxygen?” Jules offered, a bit of honey for the fly in their web.</p>
<p>Hammond nodded, then Ed hit him with the price for the offered relief.  “We’ll get you some oxygen, just tell us who your partner is, all right?”</p>
<p>The man hacked, his glare almost lethal, but before he could rasp out any smart aleck remarks, Wordy emerged out of the smokey boat, pulling off his gas mask to speak.  Holding up a map, heavily marked with red ink, he announced, “We got a slam dunk.”</p>
<p>The arsonist spat on the ground, sneering, “That doesn’t prove anything.”</p>
<p>As if on cue, Lou and Sam emerged, each toting additional evidence.  Sam spoke first.  “There’s a powder keg in there.”</p>
<p>“Stockpiled accelerants,” Lou agreed.</p>
<p>“He could open up his own shop,” Sam added, “especially if he sells copies of this.”  The blond lifted the book in his hand, the cover worn and the spine sprinkled with white cracks.  Despite the wear, Greg stiffened, eyes picking out the letters left and filling in the blanks.  A fire investigation training manual.  The sniper hefted the book and explained, “He had it hidden under a stove.  Chapter nine is on serial arson investigation.”</p>
<p>A soft chirp drew his gaze down and he reached for his phone, frowning.  Moving away from his team and – more importantly – the subject, he brought the phone up and asked, “Beth, what’s the news?”  He froze at her first sentence.  “What?  Asphyxiated?”</p>
<p>Grief and anger rang.  “Gordie’s wife thinks he succumbed to his injuries,” the arson investigator replied tightly.  “We’re gonna keep letting her believe that for now.”</p>
<p>Dear Aslan, what had he <em>done</em>?  Keeping his voice level with an effort, Greg inquired, “But the doctor told you otherwise?”</p>
<p>Another harsh, angry breath.  “Gordie was awake when Simon came to see him,” she informed the Sergeant.  “They were heard talking.  After Simon left Gordie stopped breathing.  He was deprived of oxygen, but his airflow was still running.”</p>
<p>“You think Simon had tampered with it?”</p>
<p>The anger cracked, letting out sorrow and grief and regret and what had he <em>done?</em>  “They think he could’ve used a pillow,” she whimpered.</p>
<p>Clues fit together in an instant, forming a terrible conclusion.  “Gawd, it was a mercy killing.”</p>
<p>“Boss, listen to this,” Spike called, drawing his boss around.</p>
<p>A lifetime of training, of being a cop, kicked in.  With a nod, he said, “Yeah, hold on, Beth.  I’m gonna put you on speaker phone here.”</p>
<p>Moving back to his team, he brought the phone down, tapped the speaker button, and gave his bomb tech a nod.  Lou was behind his friend’s shoulder, a sure sign they were about to trade off on the intel brief, but he couldn’t find it in himself to smile.</p>
<p>“I managed to access Andrew’s youth records,” Spike began.  “Violent father, alcohol, mom gone.”</p>
<p>“It’s a perfect breeding ground for an arsonist,” Jules breathed.  “A boy who’s angry, powerless, unsupervised.”</p>
<p>“Looking for a way to fight back,” Wordy put in quietly.</p>
<p>Spike nodded once in agreement.  “Yeah, he started early.  Garbage fires at eight, RV, fire at school.”</p>
<p>“All before he was eighteen,” Lou tacked on.</p>
<p>Without skipping a beat, Spike finished, “All fitting the profile of a thrill-seeker arsonist, just like his brother.”</p>
<p>Startled blinks ran around the group, Sam voicing the question.  “His brother?”</p>
<p>Lou stole a look over Spike’s shoulder as the bomb tech said, “Yeah, two of them worked as a team.  Andrew and Robert Hammond.”</p>
<p>Shock reverberated through the open phone line.  “Robert Hammond?” Topp hissed.  “Robbie?  I never made that connection.”</p>
<p>“Who’s Robbie?” Jules asked.</p>
<p>“He’s the custodian at Fire House Eleven,” Topp replied.</p>
<p>“That’s where he got the manual,” Sam concluded.</p>
<p>It fit, it all fit.  Brisk, Greg ordered, “Okay, let’s call the fire hall, tell them we’re on our way.”</p>
<p>“Hey, Beth, are you close with Simon?” Jules questioned abruptly.</p>
<p>“He brought me up since I was a probie,” the investigator informed them.</p>
<p>“Okay, why don’t you meet us at the fire hall,” the brunette suggested.  “Feed us on the fly.”</p>
<p>Guilt churned, his gut a mix of smug and condemnation.  “I’m gonna call Simon,” Parker said.</p>
<p>Ed glanced over at him, surprised.  “What are you thinking?”</p>
<p>Hazel met blue, not bothering to hide his fear.  “If Gord told Simon who the other arsonist was…”</p>
<p>His team leader’s instant bark for them to get moving was not as comforting as it should have been.  It meant Eddie thought he was <em>right</em> – how ironic…the man who’d been <em>stupid</em> enough to enable this situation was <em>still</em> considered trustworthy.</p>
<p>Well, one thing was for sure – he’d already made one bad call.  He couldn’t, <em>wouldn’t</em>, risk making any others.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Her stranger stood on an upper floor of the fire hall, gazing out, but Flamewings didn’t think he was really seeing it.  Perched in a shadowy nook just above, the fire bird regarded the veteran firefighter.  Something about him was…familiar…but she hadn’t figured out what.  Certainly, they must’ve crossed paths at <em>some</em> point for her magic to latch onto him.  As weak as the connection was, she was rather surprised that she <em>was</em> sensing his emotions.  Dreaming <em>his</em> point of view for the fires he fought.  Still, <em>how</em> it had happened hardly mattered – it <em>had</em> happened and she just had to deal.</p>
<p>A cell phone rang, the sound coming from his belt, but he didn’t reach for the device, instead remaining in his leaned forward position.  It continued to ring, drawing a ghost quiet sigh from the nearby phoenix.  Great…ringtones were always so <em>fun</em> to listen to at top volume…</p>
<p>Her magic hissed and she snapped to attention, spying another man approaching from the far end of the hallway, cloaked in the fire hall’s shadows, but the object in his hands was unmistakable.  Gun.</p>
<p>The man had hardly any hair to speak of, it was buzzcutted so close to his scalp and his face was rather grizzled with stubble.  Not a man who bothered shaving much.  In the lean face, dark eyes glittered with a strange excitement and Flamewings had little doubt that the muscles in that gaunt frame were far more powerful than they looked.</p>
<p>“Stay quiet,” the newcomer ordered.</p>
<p>Simon straightened, turning towards the other man.  His stance was almost…dull, but her magic sensed a growing tension in her stranger.  Anger, rage, and <em>hate.</em></p>
<p>The gaunt man halted out of range, gun at the ready and that excitement turning to <em>glee</em>.  “He told you about me, didn’t he, before he died?”  He paused, but no response was forthcoming.  Licking his lips, the man announced, “Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen.  You’re not thinking straight, you can’t take it anymore.  You’re gonna get up on that ledge and you’re gonna jump.”  When her stranger didn’t move, the other yelled, “Move!” and advanced, brandishing the gun.</p>
<p>Flamewings bridled, adjusting her position and preparing to strike.  Her stranger turned towards her, but didn’t look up.  Instead, he seized a crowbar that had been hidden in the window sill and whirled back, whacking his attacker in the arm.  A second whack sent the gun flying and Simon dove, snatching it up and turning the tables on his would-be murderer.</p>
<p>With the gun leveled and aimed, hatred swirled around him, crystallizing into grim decision.  Fury radiated, joined by loathing.  Teeth clenched, her stranger hissed, “This is for Gord.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, it's official. As of Tuesday afternoon, the data recovery center ran up the white flag of surrender. According to them, my drive is too degraded to retrieve any data. I saw it coming with the poor outlook from last week, but I was still hoping and praying for a miracle.</p>
<p>Once the drive arrives back in Dallas, I'm going to take it to a second data recovery company for a second opinion, but I truly don't expect any results.</p>
<p>In the meantime, I've flown into a frenzy of reconstructing all the files and information that I lost in the crash. With the exception of my writing and several albums that I'd ripped to my computer, I think I've managed to restore just about everything. I've also set up real-time backup to my NAS and after seeing how <em>easy</em> it was... I should've done this <em>months</em> ago. Then I wouldn't have lost <em>anything</em>. I had the tools and I just... I didn't use them and I'm going to have to live with that.</p>
<p>Thank you for your prayers for my lost data and please continue to pray as I begin to reconstruct the three stories that I lost.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed’s truck led the three truck caravan careening towards the fire hall, sirens wailing and mid-afternoon traffic fleeing to either side of the road.  Even as Greg drove the middle truck, he couldn’t quite tune out the conversation.  Guilt lay heavy in his stomach, numbness creeping in once more.  In the back of his mind, he wondered once more why Toth hadn’t stuck to his guns and suspended him – he <em>deserved</em> it.  And if Toth had suspended him, then he never would’ve had the opportunity to make that awful, terrible decision.  Would’ve been a whole lot better and safer for everyone.</p>
<p>Next to him, Jules was pressing Topp for more details on one Captain Simon Griggs.  “Beth, can you tell us anything about Simon’s home life?”</p>
<p>“Not much,” the woman admitted.  “All I know is it’s been a long time since his wife and kids joined us for the softball game.”</p>
<p>Internally, Parker flinched.  No family, just like him.  Magic grumbled, reminding him of the two family members currently in his care and custody; while he couldn’t refute that, still…too much like him…</p>
<p>“So, what’s going on with Simon is about more than just last night’s fire,” Jules mused thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“He told me once it’s like his map of the city.  It’s not streets or landmarks, it’s the crosswalk where the kid got wrapped around the wheels of a car.  It’s the jumpers, the heart attacks, the crashes, the bridges, the alleyways.  Everywhere he looks there’s someone he couldn’t help.”</p>
<p>Another flinch.  Ghosts…too many ghosts.  The senseless murders, the senseless death.  Two tech-born kids so hungry for recognition, they’d engineered the very first magic-side school shooting.  A madman so bent on dragging <em>both</em> worlds into war, he’d sent a five-year-old werewolf and a flock of Neo Death Eaters to attack the tech-side British Embassy.  Losing <em>both</em> his kids, even if he’d gotten them back.  Wordy, Spike, and the serial killer murdering the homeless.  Revan, Giles, <em>Roy</em>…  Life snatched from death and the fury of the Old Religion, shrieking its demand of a Life for a Life.</p>
<p>He almost didn’t hear Jules’ next question.  “So if it’s not his family, who does he turn to?”</p>
<p>Easy.  “His crew?” Greg half-asked, half-offered.</p>
<p>“He takes on everything they’re going through like it’s his own war to win,” Topp informed them.  “He’s tough on himself.”</p>
<p>Jules’ eyes swung around, landing on him; his battered negotiator mask held back the cringe.  “How so?”</p>
<p>“No matter how many things he does right…” Topp whispered.</p>
<p>“All he knows is what he does wrong.”  He knew it, just as he knew himself, just as he <em>knew</em> how badly he’d screwed up – and <em>why, why, why</em> would Toth give him a third chance?  All he’d done was screw up – <em>again</em>.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Beth,” Jules murmured, her gaze still locked on him.  As soon as the investigator hung up, she asked, “Are you okay, Boss?”</p>
<p>He didn’t look at her, nor did he answer.  What was there to say?  And a tiny, bitter part of him wondered why she’d bothered.  She and Sam would have their way, after all; they’d get to stay on Team One regardless of the regs – why care about him now when she hadn’t before?</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Flamewings followed the pair as best she could, staying out of sight and relying on her magic to listen in as Simon dragged his captive through the fire hall.  Although she wasn’t sure where he was going, she had a very bad feeling about the situation.  He’d had a perfect opportunity to shoot his enemy and hadn’t taken it.  Not to mention vowing revenge in the name of his fallen teammate.  A teammate who’d essentially, more or less, died in a <em>fire</em>.</p>
<p>“Pete!” her stranger bellowed, hauling the arsonist up a set of winding stairs.  She quickly fluttered up to perch above the small room’s large window.</p>
<p>“Hey, Cap,” another man called, calm and relaxed.</p>
<p>Wishing she dared peek inside, Flamewings ruffled her feathers, concentrating on what her magic could tell her.  “Stop,” Simon hissed.  “Get in there!”  Then, coolly, with rage ringing under each word, Simon ordered, “Start Program Four in the burn house.  Put it on a ten minute delay.”</p>
<p>Alarm threaded Pete’s voice.  “Captain, what is this?”</p>
<p>Dark triumph resounded.  “We got him.”  A rough push, and darkness rose in indignation and <em>betrayal</em>.  “Scum was right under our eyes the whole time.”  She heard the arsonist babble out denials, too fast for her to understand, but Simon cut him off, shouting, “Shut up!  Shut up!”</p>
<p>“Simon,” Pete pleaded; he could see where the situation was going and it meant nothing good for either man.</p>
<p>But her stranger had gone too far to pull back.  Cold fury reverberated.  “Program Four.  Do it!”</p>
<p>“Okay, all right.  Ten minutes.”  The keyboard clicked away for several seconds, then she heard the computer beep.  “It’s done.”</p>
<p>“Get out,” Simon ordered.  “Go.  Go.”</p>
<p>She heard Pete go, likely running for his teammates, but it would be too late.  From inside the small room, she heard equipment shatter and she knew.  Simon was insuring no one could stop him.  Insuring that nothing could stop his revenge.</p>
<p>Nothing, that was, except <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Even as they pulled up to the fire hall, sirens wailing and lights ablaze, the firefighters were outside, waiting and already tense.  Greg slid out of the truck, shame a living thing in his chest.  Too late, they were too late and it was all <em>his fault</em>.  He should’ve stayed at the barn and signed those papers rather than come on this call.</p>
<p>Ahead of them, he heard Topp say, “I think he was.”</p>
<p>A firefighter that somehow reminded him of Eddie despite his brunet crew cut, dark eyes, and a frantic gaze hurried up, turning to walk with them as they headed towards the hall.  “He’s got Robert at gunpoint in the burn house.”</p>
<p>“He say what his plans were?” Ed asked, striding right next to the man.</p>
<p>“He told Pete he wanted Program Four,” the firefighter replied, adding, “that’s a training drill.”</p>
<p>Another firefighter that had to be Pete stepped forward with more.  Close cut raven hair peeked out from under the second man’s black ball cap.  Intelligent brown eyes locked on Ed, worry shining.  “He’s barricaded himself inside and he’s not letting anybody near.”</p>
<p>“Take me to the controls,” Spike ordered.</p>
<p>“Okay,” the firefighter’s computer tech agreed, hurrying away with Team One’s bomb tech.</p>
<p>Ed swapped his attention to their target location.  “How’s this house operate?”</p>
<p>“You design a burn sequence on the computer,” Topp explained.  “A kitchen fire, bedroom, basement, whatever you’re drilling.  The fire spreads according to a set pattern.”</p>
<p>“You control the fire,” Sam observed, impressed.</p>
<p>Their first firefighter nodded.  “It’s propane, piped into each room.  Levels, timing, motion, it’s all set by computer.”</p>
<p>“Can we talk to him?” Jules asked.</p>
<p>“There’s a two way intercom.  I can get you a handset.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Jules murmured.  “Come with me.”</p>
<p>Before the pair departed, the firefighter turned to another of his teammates with a quick, “Gabe.”</p>
<p>Greg hung in the background, letting his team keep the lead.  It would be <em>best</em>, for all concerned, if Team One’s screw-up of a Sergeant stayed <em>out</em> of things.</p>
<p>“Spike, what do you see?” Ed demanded.</p>
<p>“Simon engaged a program that’s gonna set off a fire sequence in the house in five minutes.”</p>
<p>From the background, but still audible, Pete informed them, “It starts in the basement and works its way up to the loft within fifteen minutes.  And he shut all the windows.  I mean, the heat in there alone…  I mean, they don’t any protective equipment, they don’t have any air supply.”</p>
<p>“Can the program be aborted?” Greg asked.</p>
<p>“Not from here,” Spike reported grimly.  “He destroyed the keypad, so I can’t talk to the computer.”  The Sergeant listened as his tech inspected the computer itself.  “Hard drive’s still here, but the ports are smashed.”  Over his shoulder, he inquired, “You got wireless?”</p>
<p>A bleak, “No,” was their answer.</p>
<p>Unwilling to give up, Spike questioned, “What about if we unplug the computer, is that gonna stop the burn sequence?”</p>
<p>“You have to use the kill switch.”</p>
<p>“Kill switch,” Spike echoed, in an almost distracted manner – good, he’d spotted it.  Then frustration peeked through.  “And this is…  Was the kill switch.  There’s gotta be a backup.”</p>
<p>“There is,” Pete confirmed.  “Inside the burn house.”</p>
<p>Ed turned, the team automatically rounding up, bracketing their suddenly very unnerved Sergeant.  “So it’s down to Simon.”  And yet, Eddie’s blue gaze fixed on <em>him</em>.</p>
<p>“He wants this guy to go through what his guy went through,” Wordy observed, gray <em>also</em> turning to Parker.  No, not again.</p>
<p>“He’s got no exit strategy,” Sam remarked.</p>
<p>Jules rejoined them, holding the radio their firefighter contact had given her.  “So when Simon got here, he was very upset,” she told her teammates.  “Said he was done talking.  Barry also said it’s not the first time.  The little boy that died in the fire, Simons blames himself for that.”</p>
<p>“He’s got every reason to wanna hurt this guy.”  Sam again and now he, too, was looking towards the team’s <em>lead</em> negotiator.</p>
<p>“This is sounding like suicide intent here,” Ed mused.</p>
<p>No, no, no.  Not again, <em>never</em> again.  “I let him go,” Greg argued.  “I had him there with me.  I saw the signs and I let him go.”</p>
<p>But his team leader refused to take the hint.  Firmly, he retorted, “Greg, this is about Simon.  Now, we gotta get him to hit that kill switch before this fire starts.”</p>
<p>Jules held out the radio, expectant.  “Here’s a walkie.  He can hear us, but we have to get Simon to turn on the intercom button so that we can hear him.”</p>
<p>“Three minutes,” Lou reported.</p>
<p>“Boss,” Jules prompted softly when he didn’t take the radio.</p>
<p>No, this <em>wasn’t</em> happening.  Not again, not another life in <em>his</em> hands, not another ghost.  Not another <em>failure</em>.  “You take the lead, Ed.”</p>
<p>Ed jerked, staring at him incredulously.  “What’re you talking about?”</p>
<p>“You take this,” Greg insisted.  “He’s better off in your hands.”</p>
<p>Moving forward, Eddie pushed him away from the others, lowering his voice even as intensity rose, pinning him, <em>demanding</em> he <em>negotiate</em> once more.  “That’s a negative.  You have a connection with him, he needs to hear it from you.”</p>
<p>Connection…  How he <em>wished</em> he <em>didn’t</em> have <em>any</em> connections with <em>anyone</em>.  “I already made one bad call today,” the Sergeant countered, “I can’t make another one.  If I talk to him, I’m gonna lose him, Eddie.  He’s safer with you.”</p>
<p>As he’d hung off the side of a scoreboard, he’d told his team leader that he’d make a better Sergeant than <em>he</em> ever had.  It was true, because Ed Lane would never run away as he was about to do.  Guilt surrounded him, shame jeering, and magic churned, straining against a sudden assault on the barrier keeping the ‘team sense’ off.  Greg backed away, then turned.  “I’m done.”</p>
<p>Without looking back, he walked away, gritting his teeth as the assault on the ‘team sense’ rose to a barrage.  But he couldn’t do it anymore.  He was about to fall and he wasn’t taking <em>any</em> of them <em>with</em> him.  How right Toth had been, all those months ago.  Even heroes break and now…now he was about as broken as it got.  At least, he realized bitterly, <em>this</em> betrayal his teammates <em>knew</em> about.</p>
<p>And if his inner gryphon keened in despair and two tears trickled down his face…well…he’d already thrown away virtually every <em>scrap</em> of self-respect and honor he had.  Why not the rest?</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Ed Lane stared as the thing he’d never, <em>ever</em> thought could happen…happened.  Greg Parker, walking away from his job and his team without a second glance.  Abandoning them, despite <em>everything</em> they’d gone through.  It wasn’t supposed to <em>be</em> this way, Greg was supposed to be <em>better</em> than that, he was supposed to be the team’s anchor, their reliable port in every storm.  Their leader, come what may.</p>
<p>“Guys, did that just happen?” Spike asked, voice numb with disbelief and horror.</p>
<p>Soft, but practical as always, Jules observed, “Well, I guess the Sarge made his choice today.”</p>
<p>“I’m coming down,” Spike called.</p>
<p>The team leader’s fists clenched.  No, it <em>wasn’t</em> going to end like this.  He wasn’t going to let Greg throw away his life and his career over a lousy bit of guilt and shame for making a bad call!  He <em>wasn’t</em> going to let <em>Toth</em> win; no, he had to <em>show</em> Greg the truth: that they trusted him, no matter what, and that Simon needed <em>Greg</em>, not Jules or even him.</p>
<p>“I got him,” Ed announced, eyes still fixed on where his friend had gone.  “I’ll talk to him.  Jules, Word, take it.”</p>
<p>Even as he started after Greg, he heard Jules announce, “I’ll do the talk.”</p>
<p>“Okay, guys,” Wordy agreed, “There’s gotta be a way in.  Sam, Lou, Berry.”</p>
<p>Jogging after his boss, he heard the team’s chatter as Team One did what they did best.  Saving lives and keeping the peace.</p>
<p>“Can you get EMS here?” Jules asked someone before turning to her negotiation.  “Simon, this is Jules Callaghan, Team One.  How you doing in there?”</p>
<p>“All these windows solid steel?”  Sam.</p>
<p>In the background, one of the firefighters replied, “That’s right.”</p>
<p>“Lock on the inside?” Lou pressed.</p>
<p>“Inside and out.”</p>
<p>“Spike, can we blast the hinges and make entry?” Wordy asked.</p>
<p>Before Spike could reply, their firefighter did.  “No, our tools will be better.”</p>
<p>“What’ve we got?” Lou inquired.</p>
<p>“Jaws of life.”</p>
<p>A moment of silence, then Sam said, “Okay, let’s do it.  But there’s a gun in play, we’ll cover you.”</p>
<p>“Simon, I know that you can hear me,” Jules called.  “I need you to turn the intercom on so that we can hear you.”</p>
<p>As he ran, Ed reached inwards, forcing his fear aside.  Telepathy, he hated it, feared it, and yet…  It was part of the ‘team sense’ now, he <em>knew</em> that.  He should’ve known that from the beginning, even when it had been temporary and had gone away along with that stupid magic booster.  He just hadn’t <em>wanted</em> to know it; it had been easier to pretend it was a one-time gig that would <em>never</em> happen again.</p>
<p>Trouble was, he needed to hurry up and get over his fear because he had a nasty feeling that Greg was busy blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong since Fletcher Stadium.  Maybe even everything that had gone wrong since Toth’s torturous psych evals.  And he needed that blasted ‘team sense’ back on, <em>now</em>, because Greg had been all too eager to shut it off.  As if <em>Greg</em> was more unnerved by the ‘team sense’ than <em>any</em> of them.  As if…  As if he <em>hated</em> it, <em>just</em> like he hated his gryphon side.</p>
<p>The hair on the back of Ed’s neck stood up as he finally felt the puzzle slip together.  Greg…he hated the ‘team sense’, hated the gryphon.  Both things that were <em>part</em> of him, part of his magic.  And that meant…  His best friend hated <em>himself</em>.</p>
<p>Terror flooded the team leader, slamming the ‘team sense’ with desperate energy, screaming for him to find Greg <em>now</em>.  Because it was a perilously small step between <em>hating</em> yourself and <em>killing</em> yourself.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>She’d snuck inside, her stranger too angry to notice a young girl slipping in behind him and the arsonist too terrified to notice either.  As soon as she was inside, she shifted back, fluttering up and hiding where neither man would think to look.  Her inner fire pulsed, sensing the coming flames, but she knew she was immune to them.  If Fiendfyre hadn’t been enough to kill her, then no mortal fire had a <em>prayer</em>.</p>
<p>Though the phoenix nearly fell from her perch when a familiar voice came from the boxy intercom.  “Simon,” Aunt Jules called, “I need you to come out of there now.”</p>
<p>Below her, Simon whirled the arsonist around with a snarl and punched him, sending him sprawling.  Hate and fury boiled, fueled by shame and grief.</p>
<p>“The burn sequence is gonna start in a few seconds.”</p>
<p>Ignoring the negotiator, Simon hissed, “Why?”  Anguish joined the rage, pain a nearly tangible thing in the firefighter.  “You watched us come back from those fires, you saw what they did to us.”</p>
<p>Flames roared, surrounding the men, one of them blasting her hiding place full force.  Warmth streamed over her form, her inner fire greedily drinking in the fire’s power, and her feathers glowed in the smoke, magical fire dancing and begging to be released.  It was as well that the two men were too focused on each other to realize they weren’t alone; the phoenix nearly burst into flame just from the feel of the propane fire jets.</p>
<p>“Simon, answer me, please,” Aunt Jules pleaded.  “I need to hear your voice, okay?”</p>
<p>One of the steel windows shifted, metal creaking and screeching as those outside started to pry it apart.  It might even have worked, if her stranger hadn’t still been armed.  As soon as the metal voiced its protest, Simon yelled, “Hey, back off!  Don’t come in here!”</p>
<p>“Help me!” the arsonist shrilled.</p>
<p>“Shut up!”</p>
<p>“Help me!”</p>
<p>The gun angled in deadly earnest.  “Stop right now or he dies!”</p>
<p>“Barry,” a man outside called.</p>
<p>“Right now!” Simon roared.</p>
<p>“Fall back,” Uncle Wordy ordered; the window protested one last time, then the tools were gone.  And she knew, in her heart, that if <em>she</em> stopped the fire and did <em>not</em> take the gun as she did so…the arsonist would die.  Much as she was tempted to believe that he had earned his fate, she knew better.  The arsonist deserved punishment, that was true.  But did <em>Simon</em> deserve to <em>punish</em> him?</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Easy, easy, he had to take this easy or else they were gonna lose him.  For real, this time.  Ed forced his expression to one of anger and irritation instead of raw, gibbering terror.  He didn’t let up on his assault on the ‘team sense’, though.  Frankly, it was about time he took <em>advantage</em> of the fact that the links were bi-directional and got his <em>own</em> gander at how well Greg was <em>really</em> handling things.</p>
<p>He knew Greg could hear him, knew, even with the ‘team sense’ off, Greg would’ve had to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss his team leader coming up on his six.  Time to land both barrels and see what that got them.  “What are you doing?” he yelled, forcing Greg to halt and turn.  “ ‘I’m done.’  That’s how it ends?”</p>
<p>Greg refused to crack.  “That’s why we cross-train, Eddie,” he retorted.  “We pick the best match for the subject and today it’s not me.”</p>
<p>Shenanigans.  “You got a guy up there that needs you, Greg,” he shouted.</p>
<p>“It’s not me he needs.”</p>
<p>Oh, Greg was <em>not</em> pulling that.  He was <em>not</em> pulling that on <em>him</em>.  Sarcasm joined the anger.  “What, you think now’s a good time to walk out on the team?”</p>
<p>That.  Got a reaction.  Greg stumbled back, mask cracking to reveal a flash of shame before it rose once more.  “Come on.  This team is the best thing--”  The stocky man halted, the mask faltering, but still, somehow, holding in place.  “It’s the proudest thing in my life,” Greg whispered, hazel falling briefly.  Then he looked back up and the raw agony in his eyes was…indescribable.  “But I just can’t do it anymore, Eddie.  You put that man’s life in my hands and he will die.”</p>
<p>His boss believed that.  He believed he was done, strung out and finished, with nothing left to give.  But Ed couldn’t believe that, not if he hoped to succeed.  And it wasn’t about Captain Simon Griggs any more.  Not for him.  But if the call would save <em>Greg</em>, then that was <em>exactly</em> what he was going to use.  Hardening his gaze, intensity ringing in each word, he leaned in and snarled, “The fire is starting, those men are in there, and he is not responding to Jules.”</p>
<p>Hazel flashed.  Good.  “Then why are you wasting your time here?” Greg snapped.</p>
<p>Over the comm, Jules got the next word in.  “Simon, I know you can hear me.  Turn the intercom on so I can hear you.”</p>
<p>Ed seized the opening.  “Greg, you’re hearing the same thing I am.  And I got Jules doing everything right and he is not responding.  It’s you he needs.”</p>
<p>Terror, guilt, grief.  Slowly, slowly, the ‘team sense’ was giving under his assault.</p>
<p>“I’m the last thing this man needs,” Greg yelled.</p>
<p>No, he wasn’t giving up, he <em>wasn’t</em>.  “You gotta listen to me!  Listen to me!”</p>
<p>But he’d finally pushed too far.  Greg shoved him so hard he nearly fell, a feral gleam in those hazel eyes.  “Back off, Eddie!”  And, having finally taken his opponent aback, Greg spat, “Maybe, Eddie, you should stop <em>trusting</em> me so much!  You’re better than me, you always have been.  The only thing holding you back is <em>me</em>.  You can get him out of there, Eddie – you don’t need me.  None of you do.”</p>
<p>Before Ed could even begin to formulate a reply, Greg was gone.</p>
<p>Trust.  He hadn’t said <em>anything</em> about trust and yet Greg <em>had</em>.  Why?  And why, after all the mistakes <em>he’d</em> made, would Greg say he’d always been better?  Didn’t Greg remember how many times he’d hauled Ed out of a jam?  Hauled him up, dusted him off, and given him <em>exactly</em> what he needed to get his life back on track.</p>
<p>Danny might’ve taught him everything he knew, made him the SRU team leader he was, but Greg?  Greg had taken the man Danny had made and refined him.  Honed him into one of the best cops in the SRU.  Danny’s Ed Lane hadn’t had a clue how to balance life and work, alienating his own family, but <em>Greg’s</em> Ed Lane was slowly repairing his relationship with his wife and son, while helping to <em>raise</em> his infant daughter.  All Danny’s Ed Lane had known was tactics, with a few slight helpings of negotiation, but <em>Greg’s</em> Ed Lane could dissemble with the best of ‘em and talk down a man who’d had <em>every</em> incentive to hide his decades-old crime and let his old school buddy continue to take the fall for it.</p>
<p>Greg Parker’s Ed Lane knew, without a doubt, that Greg was selling himself so short he wasn’t even getting a <em>penny</em> on the dollar.  And, if he was lucky, maybe Greg Parker’s Ed Lane could figure out how to save his best friend.  From himself.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>The burn house’s fire hadn’t been the only fire to start.  Wordy choked back a gasp of pain as liquid fire made itself known with a hiss across his chest.</p>
<p>“The fire’s moving, it’s hitting the second floor.”</p>
<p>Oh, yeah, it was moving…right up his back with agonizing slowness, but just fast enough that he knew he wasn’t going to be on his feet much longer.</p>
<p>“How hot is it in there?” Sam asked, drawing the acting team leader’s gaze.  Jules was negotiating, Spike and Lou might be needed in their primary tech roles, which left just <em>one</em> person.</p>
<p>“They don’t have long,” Topp informed the team, her focus on the burn house.</p>
<p>Swallowing hard against the cry longing to be let free, Wordy stepped forward, looking up to scan the roof.  “Got a trap door.  Spike?”</p>
<p>“The hinges,” Sam hissed in triumph, earning a nod.</p>
<p>“Get me up a ladder, I can set it up right now.”  Fierce determination rang and Lou was already posed to go for his teammate’s gear.</p>
<p>Topp cut them off.  “No,” she said, expression grim.  “The windows are creating an airlock.  You suddenly get an opening, you get a huge rush of oxygen and--”</p>
<p>Wordy cringed, imagining a burst of Fiendfyre even as Barry finished Topp’s explanation.  “Back draft.  The gases would explode.  Both men would fry.”</p>
<p>Yeah…not an image he’d wanted, thank you.  Nausea bubbled, pushing against him, even as his back began to scream at him.  Wordy wavered on his feet, grateful for Sam’s next question.  “So no rush of oxygen, no opening windows or doors?”</p>
<p>“Ventilation holes?” Lou ventured.</p>
<p>“Relieve the air lock,” Spike agreed, following his buddy’s line of thought.</p>
<p>Topp shook her head.  “Not with the amount of time we have.”</p>
<p>Sam stepped away, leaning towards their one remaining negotiator.  “A fast track to the kill switch would be good,” he murmured.</p>
<p>“I’m trying,” she whispered back, but her figure radiated frustration.  She knew…they <em>all</em> knew.  She wasn’t the one Simon needed.  It was their boss.  Still, the brunette tried once more, lifting the radio that linked them to the burn house intercom.  “Simon, you have been through so much with your team, you can’t throw it all away now.”</p>
<p>Agony cut through him, making it harder and harder to think, but Wordy seized on one thought.  “Can we cut the heat?” he asked, iron will keeping his words steady, with no hint of distress.  “Buy some time?”</p>
<p>The firefighters glanced at each other, one of them suggesting, “Run some hoses?”</p>
<p>Barry nodded, his resemblance to Ed <em>uncanny</em> in that instant.  “Let’s do it, gear up.  Guys!”</p>
<p>Huh.  A firefighter version of Ed.  Who’da thunk?</p>
<p>Which made <em>Griggs</em>…</p>
<p>Wordy’s blood ran ice cold, even with lava boiling the skin off his back.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sarge.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, I've re-written the oneshot that I lost, started one of the two chapter stories, and re-ripped the seven Chronicles of Narnia Focus on the Family Radio Theatre Presentations (very much a throwback to the days when radios were our primary source of entertainment, complete with musical accompaniment and dramatic acting) that I lost in the hard drive crash. I've also begun reconstructing the episode transcript that I lost, which will probably take me a couple more evenings and then it will be done (again).</p>
<p>In the midst of all this flurry of activity, I'm probably falling down a bit on my job, but on the flip side, it's hard to do my job when the guys who did the database migration somehow managed to break our team's access to the production database. Thankfully, the application has access to the database or ya'll would probably hear the screaming across the globe.</p>
<p>Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed today's chapter and catch ya'll on Friday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. And Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The firefighters’ distraction gave the brunet the opening he needed.  Low, he hissed, “Sam, take it.”</p>
<p>Startled blue whipped to him, dismay gleaming.  “Wordy?”</p>
<p>Wordy let the pain show, struggling to keep to just ‘pain’ and not ‘raw, unadulterated <em>agony</em>’ as his back howled and lava erupted, soaking his shirt with moisture.  At least he <em>hoped</em> it was moisture.  “Sam, please,” he whispered.</p>
<p>Understanding shone; Wordy wasn’t running away like their boss had – he <em>genuinely</em> needed Sam to take over before he collapsed.  “Copy.”  Fierce, determined.</p>
<p>That was good, because his head was swimming and if he didn’t get his vests off <em>now</em>, he was liable to combust on the spot.  Wordy let himself stumble back, retreating from the burn house and doing his best to keep from distracting any one as he found his way to a handy metal shed nearby.  Trembling, he pulled off his equipment vest, tugging at the velcro bullet-proof vest next.  They came off easily, the air rushing in a balm, even with two layers of clothing in the way.</p>
<p>Sweat poured down, dripping into Wordy’s eyes as he raised shaking fingers to start pulling his uniform off.  On his left arm, two bracelets jangled together, the silver one’s runes turning emerald.  Oh…that wasn’t good.  He fumbled with the uniform’s buttons, the tremors growing worse until he couldn’t even keep a grip on the buttons, much less get them open.  His head spun and nausea curled around him; he slumped sideways against the shed’s wall, sliding down to the ground with a moan.</p>
<p>Beneath the uniform and the constable’s white shirt, the letter-like scars turned red, a putrid yellow pus leaking from the leading letters.  Had anyone been able to see, they would have seen that wherever the pus touched, the skin began to sear.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>The fire itself hid her presence as she trailed the two men now struggling to reach the second floor, away from the flames engulfing the first.  Sheltered by the propane jets, her form <em>blazed</em> violet, her inner fire delighting in the environment.  Never before had she realized how much her Animagus form <em>needed</em> fire; perhaps it wasn’t quite as odd as she’d thought that her magic had latched onto a <em>firefighter</em>.</p>
<p>After the first minute, her inner fire had stopped trying to add a <em>magical</em> component to the artificial flames, a fact she gave thanks for.  The young phoenix had enough problems with her magic right now without making an already bad situation <em>worse</em>.  Flamewings allowed a soft, frustrated trill.  She needed to be <em>close</em> before she could dare the kill switch, but <em>that</em> meant getting close to Simon and his captive, for Simon would <em>certainly</em> shoot his hostage if the fire died.  And that in turn meant breaking the Statute of Secrecy.  With so <em>repulsive</em> a human life, with a man who cared <em>nothing</em> for the suffering he’d caused, perhaps it was <em>better</em> to keep the Statute.  Except…if Simon was like her uncle, then to kill in cold-blooded revenge would eventually be his death.</p>
<p>Flamewings let her crest lift, decision settled.  For Simon’s sake, then, she would break the law of her people.  And why not?  She had done it before, for lesser causes.</p>
<p><em>Heh, listen to me,</em> the teenager thought to herself wryly, <em>I’m getting as bad as a centaur with the fancy.</em></p>
<p>With that, the fire bird jerked her beak in a nod and vanished, a soft <em>boom</em> in the fire marking her departure.  Above, in the second floor, she reappeared, the sound just as quiet, though flames leapt out around her form.  Neither of the men noticed, a fact Flamewings gave thanks for.</p>
<p>Over the intercom, Aunt Jules called, “Simon, I need you to hit the kill switch right now.”</p>
<p>Simon angled the gun in his hands, vicious pleasure in his stance as he stood between the arsonist and the kill switch, taunting his captive with it.  “How do you like it so far?”  Judging by the arsonist’s ragged pants, he was not, in fact, enjoying this taste of his own medicine.  Then he threw himself at the kill switch, jerking back as his captor fired.  “Don’t even think about it,” Simon snarled.</p>
<p>“Screw you!”</p>
<p>“How do you think that kid felt?” Simon demanded, sneering.</p>
<p>“He shouldn’t have been there.”</p>
<p>Flamewings hissed from the makeshift perch she’d found, Simon’s retort obscuring the sound she made.  “It was the middle of the night,” the firefighter snapped, “where was he supposed to be?”</p>
<p>And still the <em>fool</em> refused to cow.  “They should’ve checked their smoke detectors,” he jeered.</p>
<p>“Simon, please, hit the kill switch right now,” Aunt Jules begged.</p>
<p>“Feeling a little tired?” Simon taunted.  Tilting his head at the next room, he sneered, “Why don’t you stretch out in the bedroom?”</p>
<p>Propane flames erupted, both men automatically cringing away, and she <em>moved</em>.  With a shriek fit to raise the dead, Flamewings <em>dropped</em>, snatching Simon’s gun away with one claw and striking the kill switch with the other.  Firefighter and arsonist ducked, going in opposite directions as the avian above caught them completely off guard.  Flamewings stooped, releasing her hold on the gun; it slid under the makeshift ‘bed’ in the ‘bedroom’.  Triumph reverberated in her cry as she wheeled, violet flames dancing across her form, though they never touched the ground.</p>
<p>Simon’s head came up and he gawped, staring up at the mythical creature that had just stolen his revenge.  On the opposite side of the room, the arsonist also stared, his gaze almost <em>hungry</em> as he took in the fire still glowing on the phoenix’s body.  Then dark eyes fell to Simon and he sneered, launching himself at Simon.  Distracted, the firefighter’s head snapped back when the arsonist landed a haymaker in his face.  Another punch knocked Simon sideways, his opponent landing on his chest, long slim fingers reaching for his throat.</p>
<p>“<em>Die</em>,” the arsonist hissed.</p>
<p>“<em>Oferswinge!</em>”</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>The lean, gaunt criminal was lifted off of Simon Griggs, violet magic hurling him against the burn house’s outer wall.  Simon rolled, scrambling to his feet, then froze, jaw dropping open.  Right in front of him, clad in close fitting dark purple armor with black trim, was a young woman.</p>
<p>Over her shoulder, he saw a quiver with a bow hooked to it, but the redhead’s hands were empty and she met his gape with calm violet eyes.  Wait…  <em>Violet</em>.</p>
<p>“You…you were…”</p>
<p>She cocked her head to the side in a bird-like motion.  “Yes,” she confirmed.</p>
<p>Guilt and shame roiled.  “I’m sorry,” Simon rasped.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Surprise flashed.  “For what?” the girl asked.</p>
<p>He stared at her, blinking hard.  Redoubled shame dropped his gaze; of course she wouldn’t remember him…  “I wish,” he whispered, “I wish we could’ve saved your brother that day…”</p>
<p>Again, she stared at him and then, to his utter <em>shock</em>, she laughed.  “So <em>that</em> is when it happened,” she exclaimed, only just loud enough for him to hear.</p>
<p>What?  “When what happened?” he asked dumbly.  Surely she hadn’t <em>forgotten</em> the day her own brother died.</p>
<p>Violet sparkled.  “When my magic latched onto you.”</p>
<p>Wait, <em>what</em>?  His jaw dropped, eyes widening almost to the size of dinner plates.</p>
<p>Taking advantage of his stunned silence, she stepped forward, reaching out to touch his chest; a thread of violet leapt to her fingers before she could make contact.  The girl smiled, nodding to herself, then looked up into his eyes.  “You were at the car accident.”</p>
<p>Numb, he nodded.  So she <em>did</em> remember…</p>
<p>Violet darkened in remembered sorrow.  “You’ve been carrying my brother’s ghost all this time, haven’t you?”</p>
<p>That…that was a surprisingly good way to put it.  Again, he nodded.</p>
<p>Stepping back, she swept him with keen eyes.  “You know, in some cultures, to cling to the dead keeps them from moving on.”</p>
<p>“Not this one,” Simon rasped.</p>
<p>“No,” she agreed quietly.  “And the living have no power over the dead in any case, save One.”  Glancing past him, her gaze hardened.  “A moment, if you would, good sir.”</p>
<p>Following her gaze to the arsonist, Simon’s fists clenched.  But before he could move, she stepped past him, lifting one hand and pointing to the unconscious man.  “<em>Gehæftan</em>.”  Rope appeared out of thin air, wrapping tight around the arsonist.  A flick of her wrist brought a stick of wood dropping out of one of her wrist bracers, landing neatly in her palm.  With a flourish, she brought the stick up, whispering, “<em>Stupefy</em>.”  A red light launched from the stick’s tip, striking the arsonist.</p>
<p>Snorting, the redhead slid the stick back in its hiding place and turned back to him.  “There.  Now the <em>trash</em> won’t interrupt us.”</p>
<p>Both brows arched, but Simon couldn’t quite find the words to voice his questions.</p>
<p>A wry smile crossed her face, as if she knew what he was struggling with – and maybe she did.  “Well, first things first,” the girl fairly chirruped.  “You can ditch one of your ghosts, sir; my brother’s <em>alive</em>.”</p>
<p>Say <em>what</em>?  “I saw that fire,” Simon protested.  “No one could’ve survived it.”</p>
<p>“I could.”</p>
<p>He blinked dumbly at her.</p>
<p>Sighing, she reached up, running a hand through her fiery mane.  “Well, maybe I should’ve started with my name; I doubt you ever heard it.”  Almost before he could blink, she was standing right in front of him once more, one hand extended.  “Alanna Victoria Calvin, Scion of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Calvin.”</p>
<p>The firefighter floundered, once again caught off guard.  Then he reached out, shaking her hand.  “Captain Simon Griggs, District Three, Fire Hall Eleven.”</p>
<p>He’d thought two could play at the how-to-catch-someone-completely-off-guard game, but Alanna merely dipped her head, her movements elegance itself.  “A pleasure, Captain, and my thanks for your efforts on behalf of my brother, Heir Calvin.”  A smile, broad and completely at odds with her formality, spread across her face.  “By fortunate happenstance, a lady of the House of Smith rescued my brother from our uncle’s vehicle before it was engulfed in the flames.”  The smile dropped away.  “Unfortunately she was, as one of my uncles put it, mad as a hatter and mistook my brother for her own son, dead these past five years at least.  Two of my uncle’s colleagues realized my brother was still alive and managed to rescue him about a week after the fire.”</p>
<p>Simon worked to keep from goggling.  It had always bothered him that there hadn’t been any body left in the burned out Impala, thus denying a sense of closure to the family, but in <em>this</em> case…that had turned out to be a <em>very</em> good thing.</p>
<p>“You were never told, were you?” Alanna murmured.</p>
<p>“I…I don’t think I asked, either,” the firefighter stammered.</p>
<p>A tiny smile reappeared, playing about the redhead’s mouth.  “Fair enough, Captain.”  Meeting his eyes, she cocked her head to the side.  “Now then.  What to do about you.”</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>Slowly, she shook her head.  “Right now, you’re angry and probably a bit in shock since I pretty much dropped magic and Lance surviving on your head without giving you any breathing room, but that’s not going to last, is it?”</p>
<p>No…no, it wasn’t.</p>
<p>Alanna’s gaze turned wistful.  “I’m not like Uncle Greg or Aunt Jules – I don’t know how to make people stop hating themselves.  But I do know what it’s like, you know.”</p>
<p>Somehow, he managed to make his mouth move.  “What what’s like?”</p>
<p>Sorrow shone and she leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper.  “Burning.”</p>
<p>His heart chilled.</p>
<p>Eyes far too old for so young a face met his.  “Fiendfyre, all around, screaming because it can’t have you, because you’re a phoenix.  Howling for the life it can sense behind the shield you just left because you <em>knew</em> it couldn’t hold forever.”  She shivered.  “Roaring with hate, the same hate that drove a boy you knew and maybe liked to attack a <em>school</em> and hurl <em>Fiendfyre indoors!</em>”</p>
<p>Simon reached out, drawing the girl in close.  “It…it killed?” he managed.</p>
<p>Against his chest, she nodded, sniffling.  “Uncle Greg and Uncle Wordy said it wasn’t my fault; that my shield saved fourteen people, just in that one room, but I <em>saw</em> him cast it.  I yelled at him to stop.”  Tears slid down.  “I <em>saw</em> it rebound and take them both.”</p>
<p>Simon’s arms went around her, hugging her as she cried, letting out pain she’d bottled up for <em>months</em>.  He didn’t even <em>know</em> her, but she knew.  She understood what it was like to battle the flames and fail.  She knew what it was to watch people <em>die</em> to <em>fire</em>.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>He never understood what happened that day and, to be fair, neither did Alanna.  But as the phoenix Animagus wept against a stranger’s chest, that stranger held her close, letting his own grief out, lancing the pain that had built up over <em>years</em> of heroics and loss.  In grieving together, the pair managed to start healing.  And in the background, the violet magic purred, well satisfied.  In saving another, its mistress had saved herself.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Simon huffed, ignoring the noise from the intercom as Alanna’s tears finally dripped to a halt.  Not a negotiator, huh?  Kinda hard to kill yourself and an arsonist with a fire when a phoenix drops in, hits the kill switch, knocks out the bad guy, and promptly <em>cries</em> all over you.  He didn’t think the little minx had even <em>planned</em> on the crying.  The half ton of bombshells to keep him off guard and too stunned to think about suicide and/or revenge, yeah, but not the crying.</p>
<p>Funny though…  Was ‘Aunt Jules’, Jules <em>Callaghan</em> of the SRU?  Somehow, he had a feeling she was.  One eyebrow rose, his mind clearing enough to put a few more pieces together.  “So…” he remarked casually, “They know you’re in here?”</p>
<p>She froze.</p>
<p>Nope, they didn’t have a <em>clue</em>.  Which meant he had a <em>perfect</em> way to get back at her for all the bombshells.  And the crying.  Especially the crying.  “Okay, kid, come on, let’s go,” he decided, keeping ahold of her with one hand while he went back and dragged the <em>trash</em> – oh, what an <em>appropriate</em> name for the scum – out of the corner where he’d landed.</p>
<p>Alanna struggled.  “Please don’t,” she pleaded.  “They’ll be really mad at me and Uncle Greg might yell and…and…”</p>
<p>“And?” Simon inquired, adding a second brow to the first.</p>
<p>Violet eyes widened and she bit off whatever she’d planned to say.  “And magic’s supposed to be <em>secret</em>, but no one saw me come in here,” she blurted.</p>
<p>Oh…darn…she had a point, there.  Not the magic bit – if magic was supposed to be secret, then fire hair was an <em>awful</em> secret keeper – but the bit about coming out with <em>three</em> people when only two had gone in.  Then an idea dawned, crazy, stupid, but if it worked?</p>
<p>“Do they know about magic?”</p>
<p>She eyed him warily, but nodded.</p>
<p>“So if I say that you were already in here and you’re the one who smacked the kill switch and talked some sense into me?”</p>
<p>The girl considered that, frowning.  “And if your friends ask why you didn’t see me before the fire started?  Or why I waited so long?”</p>
<p>“You hid from me ‘cause I had a gun and you didn’t realize there was a kill switch until I kept <em>him</em> away from it,” Simon countered.  “And you jumped on the kill switch when I punched him again.”</p>
<p>Fire hair nibbled her lip, then nodded.  “They’ll know better, but they won’t say anything.”  Her gaze dropped and she mumbled, “Until later.”</p>
<p>Honestly, he didn’t care about keeping the magic hidden, but he didn’t think he could drag both of them out if Alanna kept struggling.  Then the girl gave him an impish smile and tugged free, pulling her stick out again.  To his surprise, the <em>trash</em> lifted out of his grip into the air and ‘accidently’ banged his head against a handy propane vent before the unconscious lout floated towards the stairs up to the loft.</p>
<p>An evil smirk crossed Captain Griggs’ face.  Then again, maybe magic wasn’t so bad…he could always pass it off as him smacking the <em>trash</em> around during the fire, after all…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My heavily damaged data drive is now in the hands of Ace Data Recovery and I am waiting on tenterhooks for their initial evaluation. Since this is the second stop for my data drive, I had to pay at $100 diagnostic fee - but if I can get my data back, it's more than worth it. I'm uncertain of what I will do if Ace doesn't work out - I could try a third data recovery company, but that could be throwing good money/time after bad.</p>
<p>I'm hoping I'll get the evaluation today - if the news is promising, I'll probably spend the weekend on my original fiction. If not, I'll be back on the re-writing of my Lost Stories.</p>
<p>I'm also hurting a bit after having my two lower wisdom teeth pulled (the four teeth at the very back of your mouth are called wisdom teeth). Nothing wrong with the teeth, actually, but the two upper teeth were already gone and as a result, the lower teeth kept pushing themselves up and started hitting my gum line. Much as I didn't want to have two more teeth pulled (much less at the same time), it was better to take care of the problem while it was just 'irritating' and not 'painful'. I'll survive, but thank the Lord for pain meds in the meantime.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. But the Greatest of These</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed darted around another firefighter and slid past two paramedics.  The last time, Greg had pretty much <em>let</em> himself be caught, but he clearly wasn’t interested in round two of the Parker/Lane debate over the Simon Griggs negotiation because he was doing a darn good job of keeping out of sight.  If not for the ‘team sense’, Ed would’ve lost him, but the hum under his skin and the little…impulses…on which way to go were keeping him on track.  It was almost as if the ‘team sense’ <em>wanted</em> him to catch Greg, <em>wanted</em> him to force his boss to see the <em>truth</em>.</p>
<p>Well, he wasn’t complaining, even if the telepathy thing <em>still</em> freaked him out.  Pausing, he focused on that <em>sense</em> of <em>where</em> his boss was, blue eyes swinging unerringly to his left and a small area that looked like it was usually a pretty good place to catch a breather while on shift.  Instinct whispered and Ed ghosted forward, moving as quietly as a man in full SRU gear can manage.</p>
<p>He made it all the way inside the tiny yard before his equipment vest squeaked, ever so softly, against his bullet-proof vest; Greg whipped around, but there was nowhere to run – Ed stood in the only way in or out.  Blue took in a flash of fear before hazel went flat and dull.</p>
<p>Swiveling away again, Greg asked, “Eddie, what do you want?  Don’t you have a firefighter to talk down?”</p>
<p>About to open his mouth, Ed stilled as Jules’ voice rang out over the comm, confusion lacing each word.  “The fire’s out,” she reported.</p>
<p>Wait, <em>what</em>?  How could the fire be out?  The only one who could stop the fire was <em>Simon</em> and he had <em>not</em> responded to Jules, <em>at all</em>.  He rather doubted the arsonist had been able to talk the furious fire captain down and Greg was hiding <em>here</em>, so…how?</p>
<p>“Well, Eddie, looks like you were wrong,” Greg remarked without moving.  “You didn’t need me at all.”  Frustration, fury, and something else glowed in hazel depths as the Sergeant turned, muscles tensing and a definite snap to his words.  “So now will you <em>leave me alone?</em>”</p>
<p>“No can do, <em>Boss</em>,” Ed countered, crossing his arms and planting himself.  “Holleran would string me up himself if I came back without you and after <em>that</em>, everyone else would take a whack at me for losing our Sergeant.”  Tilting his head to the side, the team leader kept going.  “Greg, seriously, what is going on with you?  You <em>know</em> we’re human, you <em>know</em> we get things wrong, but I never thought I’d see the day when you let that <em>beat</em> you.”  One step closer.  “I never thought I’d see the day when you let <em>Toth</em> win.  He’s right, you know; we <em>trust</em> you, no matter what, if you’d just open your eyes and <em>see</em> that.”</p>
<p>Fury dimmed, but the something else glittered brighter.  “You trust me, huh.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Boss, always; you know that.”</p>
<p>For a long moment, Greg Parker wrestled with himself, then his shoulders slumped and he reached down, turning off his radio.  Confused, Ed followed suit – if the Boss didn’t want anyone else overhearing them, he could do that.  Once his radio was off, he glanced up at his friend, one brow arching.  “So, Eddie,” the other man began, agony and sarcasm rolling off each syllable, “If I snapped, turned into some insane serial killer, would you still trust me?”</p>
<p>Ed jerked back, caught completely off guard…because the first answer was <em>yes</em>.  Always, no matter what, Greg had his trust – and he would follow his boss to the ends of the Earth.  “You wouldn’t,” he blurted instead, unable to figure out why he couldn’t answer differently, unable to grasp why <em>no</em> simply <em>wasn’t</em> an answer when it came to <em>Greg</em>.</p>
<p>Greg saw right through him, just like he always did.  A soft sigh escaped from the Sergeant, despair and grief all but wafting off his frame.  “You would,” he whispered.</p>
<p>“Greg?”  Ed wasn’t blind, Greg had <em>known</em> that would be his answer, even before he’d asked the question.</p>
<p>The other laughed, a bitter, angry laugh.  “You know, Eddie,” Greg began, his stance tightening and his expression closing off, “I never thought you’d do it.  I thought you’d all be <em>happy</em> to have an out and then, boom, no more ‘team sense’.  No more feeling what <em>you</em> feel, no more struggling to keep the ‘team sense’ off when some witch comes wandering along with a <em>reality-bending</em> spell, no more relying on all of you to keep <em>myself</em> sane.”</p>
<p>Ed swallowed hard, resisting the urge to back away from the rising tide of utter <em>fury</em>.</p>
<p>“I <em>begged</em> Him to take it away, to give all of you back your freedom and what do you guys do?”  Fists clenched and the rage that had built up for <em>months</em> finally <em>exploded</em>.  “<em>You bloody well VOLUNTEER to stay ENSLAVED, you utter IMBECILE!!!</em>”</p>
<p>Wait, <em>what</em>?  “Boss?” Ed managed, jaw hanging open.</p>
<p>“Don’t you <em>get</em> it yet, <em>Eddie?</em>” Greg snarled.  “You <em>trust</em> me so <em>bloody</em> much that I could <em>order</em> you to do <em>anything</em> and <em>you’d do it!</em>”</p>
<p>Chills were running up and down his back, made even worse by the part of himself that vibrated in total agreement.  He wanted to laugh, to tell Greg he was just being an idiot, that no one could control someone else like that outside of the <em>Imperius</em>…but he couldn’t.  No more than he could deny his bone-deep trust in Greg, no matter what.</p>
<p>“You…you wouldn’t,” he stuttered out instead.</p>
<p>One fist flew sideways, slamming into the fire hall’s concrete wall.  “<em>Of course I wouldn’t, but you think I wanted that?</em>”</p>
<p>Ed shook his head, fighting with all his might to hold still; he’d <em>never</em> seen Greg this enraged.</p>
<p>“You think I <em>wanted</em> to live with this?” Greg demanded.  “You think I wanted to live with <em>knowing</em> that if I ever slip up, I can <em>control</em> you?”</p>
<p>“Greg, no, I don’t,” Ed insisted.  “I know you, you…you’d <em>hate</em> that.”  His scalp prickled.  Hate.  Definitely not his best choice of words.</p>
<p>Instead of calming Greg down, his plea only fanned the flames.  Both fists came down on a small table between the two men, cracking the wood under the force of that blow.  His friend didn’t even flinch, ignoring the splinters that drove their way into his hands.  “I <em>begged</em> Him to release you, <em>all</em> of you, to give you <em>back</em> your free will, and instead <em>He</em> makes it into some kinda <em>deal</em>.  Except, oh, wait, there’s only <em>six</em> deals on the table and, <em>so sorry</em> Parker, <em>you</em> aren’t eligible for <em>any</em> of them!”</p>
<p>The team leader flinched violently.  He’d thought, he’d <em>assumed</em> that <em>Greg</em> had gotten the <em>exact</em> same bargain the <em>rest</em> of them had had.  Never, in his wildest <em>dreams</em> would he have thought the Lion would not give <em>Greg</em> the option of refusing the ‘team sense’ and the burdens it brought with it.</p>
<p>“And <em>then</em>,” Greg snarled, hate blazing in topaz hard eyes, “You said <em>Yes!</em>  You said, <em>sure</em>, go ahead, the <em>Boss</em> can handle it!  He can <em>always</em> handle it, isn’t that right, Eddie?  He can go on being our solid rock, the guy who can take on <em>any</em> problem and find a solution, even when he <em>hates</em> himself.  Even when he can <em>never</em> trust <em>himself</em> again!”  For a moment, the Sergeant stopped, panting for breath, then he roared, “Even when his own <em>team</em> <em>forces</em> him to be their damn <em>king!</em>”</p>
<p>Oh, now he <em>really</em> hoped no one was hearing any of this.  Because he was having a sudden vision of <em>Greg</em> with a <em>crown</em> and it didn’t even look half bad on him.  Wary, tentative, Ed stepped closer to his friend as Greg leaned heavily on the table, the rage draining out of him.</p>
<p>Before he could get close, his Boss looked up, the weight of the world suddenly bearing down all over again in that broken gaze.  “You know what the worst of it is, Eddie?”</p>
<p>Mute, Ed shook his head.</p>
<p>Hazel closed in grief.  “<em>He</em> told me I had to respect your decisions, that I could never try to break the ‘team sense’ again.”  Graying brown hair lowered and Ed spied a rough swipe at the eyes.  “And…and I still want them.”  Another bitter bark of laughter.  “How’s that for irony, Eddie…I hate them, but I…I can’t live without them anymore.”</p>
<p>Gently, gingerly, Ed laid a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.  “<em>That’s</em> why you want the suspension, Greg?”</p>
<p>This time the laugh was watery, tinged with hysteria and irony.  “I can’t do this anymore, Ed.  I can’t live like this, <em>knowing</em> I could hurt any of you, whenever I want to, <em>however</em> I want to.  If I can’t get rid of it, then maybe I can bury it.”</p>
<p>“Never use it again,” Ed concluded dully.  Just like the gryphon.  Bury it, smother it, pretend it never existed even as the self-hatred swelled and grew.  How long could Greg survive <em>that</em>?  “Greg…has it been like this <em>all along</em>?”  Surely it hadn’t…surely his friend hadn’t had this horrible ability since the <em>Netherworld</em>.</p>
<p>Aching sorrow lifted.  “Yes,” Greg whispered.  “But I didn’t know and it…it wasn’t…”  He stopped, swallowed hard.  “The gryphon,” he managed.</p>
<p>“Something happened when it got out?” Ed hazarded.</p>
<p>The nod was one of utter weariness.  “When it…when it <em>took</em> the ‘team sense’, it tainted the magic.”  That, Ed already knew, but his friend wasn’t done.  “And, Eddie…when it <em>tainted</em> the magic, it also forced all of you to <em>trust</em> me with everything you have.  Even when you guys got rid of the taint, that part stayed.”  Slumping down, Greg whispered, “On a scale of one to ten, your trust in me is a <em>twenty</em>.”</p>
<p>Ed swallowed hard, not bothering to remark that Greg was <em>way</em> off the scale.  That was the point.  “But you could…you could’ve controlled us before that?”</p>
<p>Bitter laughter forced its way out yet again.  “Remember what happened after the Netherworld, Eddie?”</p>
<p>The team leader recoiled, jerking away, visions of Greg’s dying body and soul flashing through his mind.  “<em>We</em> did that?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you did it all right,” Greg managed to rasp.  “When you accepted the anchors, magic went and decided I should be your damn <em>king</em>.  And what kind of <em>king</em> can’t give his <em>vassals</em> orders?”</p>
<p>The horror of it swamped Ed and he might’ve fallen if it hadn’t been for the fact that part of him…had already <em>known</em>.  Had known and <em>accepted</em> it, all of it.  A shiver worked its way through him at how swiftly the truth had sunk into his soul, acceptance curling around heart and mind.</p>
<p>Bound to Greg so closely that his best friend could probably order him to walk off a cliff and <em>he would do it!</em>  Just another day in the life and besides, Greg would <em>never</em> do that.  Trust in his Boss that didn’t even <em>have</em> a scale.  Eh, who needs some stupid scale, he <em>trusted</em> Greg and that would never change.  Greg as his <em>king</em> – well, a crown was really all his Boss needed anyway and besides…it would look good on him.</p>
<p>It was <em>wrong, wrong, wrong</em>, except when the magic inside him flipped wrong to right and added a thrill up his spine to boot.  Ed sucked in air, fighting against himself to see things from <em>Greg’s</em> point of view.  To try and see what it would be like to walk in his <em>best friend’s</em> shoes, <em>knowing</em> that any wrong move, even an <em>order</em> given too powerfully, would hurt those he cared about.</p>
<p>At some point, he reached out blindly, one hand landing on Greg’s shoulder again.  The ‘team sense’ roared to life, connecting the two men with a flare of scarlet magic; Ed staggered and Greg all but collapsed as the magic forced them to see life from the <em>other’s</em> point of view.  It only lasted seconds, but when it was done, Ed retained the <em>real</em> view of things; the magic inside him could no longer influence him into viewing the situation through rose-colored glasses.</p>
<p>And he <em>had</em> been seeing things through those charming spectacles, he could see that now.  How else could he have <em>missed</em> the unmistakable signs of Greg’s growing depression and suicidal urges?  How could he have not <em>realized</em> how utterly <em>wrong</em> it was to trust someone so blindly that <em>anything</em> they said went?  Toth had even <em>said</em> it – that Greg didn’t trust himself and he’d gone right back to thinking <em>Toth</em> was the problem, but…but he wasn’t.  For crying out loud, Toth was probably going to <em>save</em> Greg with those blasted suspension papers.  Ed’s throat tightened at the thought, but better to lose Greg to retirement than to find him halfway down a bottle or slumped over, clutching his service weapon in one final death grip.</p>
<p>It scared him to know his <em>best friend</em> had gotten to this point and <em>none</em> of them had <em>noticed</em>.  Some team <em>they</em> were.  Some <em>family</em>, not even realizing when their cornerstone had begun to crack.  Not even paying attention when the <em>best</em> of them desperately needed help and support.  It couldn’t go on…and he would be <em>damned</em> before he’d let his <em>brother</em> down again.</p>
<p>Crouching down, Ed met Greg’s eyes, <em>willing</em> him to listen, <em>willing</em> him to see.  “Greg, I hear you,” he said, ferocity and intensity in every line.  “I hear you and I’m with you, buddy.  You and me, we’re gonna make it through this.  And you know what, Greg, if that means you retire and you’re not on this team any more, that’s okay.  If that means you <em>never</em> use the ‘team sense’ ever again and <em>never</em> transform ever again, that’s all right.  ‘Cause I’m not losing you, Boss.  I’m not going to let you drown in guilt and shame and self-<em>loathing</em>.”</p>
<p>Hazel met his, widening with each sentence.</p>
<p>Ed nodded sharply.  “You know what, Greg?  I think it’s about time you put <em>yourself</em> first.  Not me, not this team, not even your kids.  You can’t protect them or us if you’re six feet under.”</p>
<p>Greg blanched, but didn’t argue.</p>
<p>“And what you said here, it stays between us, buddy.  No one hears about it from me, only <em>you</em>, all right?”</p>
<p>His best friend, his boss, his brother in all but blood, nodded shakily.  “Copy.”</p>
<p>The team leader thought for a moment, then reached out, griping his friend’s shoulder yet again.  “Not how you thought I’d react, huh?”</p>
<p>The laugh was shaky, uncertain, but genuine.  “I thought you’d take my head off.”</p>
<p>In spite of himself, Ed smiled.  “Nah, Greg…that’s Sophie’s job.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So on Friday, I was extremely thankful to receive a quote from Ace Data Recovery. It is by no means a guarantee that I will get my data back, but if they are willing to try, then that's cause for (cautious) hope. I have, of course, authorized them to go forward, though I admit to being slightly puzzled that they believe the problem is with the hard drive's 'Head Rack Assembly' rather than scoring on the platters. To pull up the well-worn analogy of a record player, the Head Rack Assembly would be the arm of the record player that the needle is attached to.</p>
<p>In the meantime, I've gone back to working on my original fiction series as well as earnestly praying that God will give me my data back. Even if He does not, I have faith that He will help me reconstruct my stories, but I would dearly love the originals.</p>
<p>Thank you all for your prayers and reviews. I'll continue to keep you updated on the data recovery and I hope everyone enjoyed today's chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Is Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Working gingerly, Ed managed to pry out all the splinters Greg had accidently inflicted on himself when he’d slammed the small wooden table.  Greg didn’t argue, didn’t flinch, even when a few of the splinters allowed drops of blood out to trail down the Sergeant’s hands.  Once the splinters were out, the team leader surveyed the table, grimacing at the impact area and the cracks running through the wood.  Maybe…<em>maybe</em> an ordinary human being could damage a table like this one with one blow – if said table was rotten and falling apart anyway – but <em>this</em> table looked fairly new and yet Greg had half-destroyed it without even <em>trying</em>.  Gryphon strength.  Yet another sharp reminder of how much magic had changed their lives.</p>
<p>Unable to help himself, Ed cast a worried, wary glance at his friend.</p>
<p>Wry understanding gazed back.  “I’m not quite <em>that</em> bad, Eddie.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Greg, I think you are,” Ed countered.</p>
<p>Hazel turned thoughtful and his boss eyed the table, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly.  A speculative gleam joined the consideration; Greg reached out, resting one hand on the table right next to the damaged area.  The stocky man’s jaw tightened and scarlet filmed hazel irises.  To Ed’s shock, the damage reversed, bit by bit, the wooden planks returning to a fine finish with no sign that they’d ever been otherwise and the rough indentation of fists rising and melting back into the rest of the table.</p>
<p>“Did you just cast a <em>Reparo</em> Charm on that?” Ed hissed.</p>
<p>The response was a shrug.  “You remember that magic booster, Eddie?”</p>
<p>“Sure I do.”</p>
<p>“It wore off, but I think it left some permanent affects,” Greg explained.  “I’m still no wizard, but I’ve been able to get a few spells to work.”  He looked up and around at the hedges surrounding the nook, speculation returning.  “In fact, I think…I think I might’ve done a Silencing ward, too.”</p>
<p>Ed blinked, both caught off guard and relieved.  Given how many of Team One’s deepest, darkest secrets Greg had been shouting about…  Yeah.  Not good if anyone outside the team found out.  Part of him started plotting how to take advantage of the Boss’s newest talents, but he firmly shut that part down.  The <em>last</em> thing Greg needed right now was more pressure.</p>
<p>A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned, meeting the other’s gaze.  “Ed, it’s okay.  I’d probably be plotting in your shoes, too.”</p>
<p>“You don’t need that, Greg.  Not now.”</p>
<p>Fingers tightened.  “I know I’m in bad shape, Ed, but I’m not made of glass.  Don’t treat me like it.”</p>
<p>The team leader huffed, not sure how to respond.  Then a tiny smile quirked.  “You got it all out.”</p>
<p>“All?”  Greg frowned, thinking that over.  “Maybe not <em>all</em>, Eddie, but most of it.”</p>
<p>Ed tilted his chin down, understanding the unspoken.  Greg wasn’t <em>better</em>, not by any means, but venting a good portion of the poison he’d been keeping locked up meant he <em>felt</em> better.  While his friend wasn’t planning on turning the ‘team sense’ on anytime soon, he’d regained enough stability to face the world once more.  And although their teammates usually thought of <em>Ed</em> as the stubborn one, he had <em>nothing</em> on Greg when the Sergeant made up his mind.  Pity or careful handling would <em>not</em> be welcome.  Good; he hadn’t planned on that anyway.  Well…maybe a little.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Alanna did her best to keep from openly pouting – it wasn’t <em>her</em> fault that her magic had latched onto Captain Griggs and all but <em>demanded</em> that she <em>deal</em> with his attempt at murder-suicide by fire.  Trouble was, her family didn’t see it like that, so they were taking turns at chewing her out for putting herself in danger.  Nor did they appreciate her protest – in Narnian – that Flamewings was <em>immune</em> to fire.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean you can’t get <em>shot</em>,” Uncle Sam pointed out, acid in his tone.</p>
<p>“Sam is right, Alanna,” Aunt Jules agreed.  “That was a very dangerous risk to take; what if you hadn’t managed to get the gun away from Simon?  He could’ve ended up shooting <em>both</em> of you.”</p>
<p>It figured; she’d <em>known</em> this was going to happen, but <em>noooo</em>.  Her magic had made up its mind and never mind the consequences to <em>her</em>.  And Uncle Greg wasn’t even here to yell at her…  In a odd way, if she <em>had</em> to be yelled at, she wanted <em>Uncle Greg</em> to be the one scolding her.  Much as she loved her family, <em>Uncle Greg</em> was her guardian and <em>he</em> should be the one to yell.  Not Aunt Jules or Uncle Sam, though she wouldn’t mind if Uncle Wordy did it.</p>
<p>A part of her ached – didn’t he <em>care</em> enough to come and yell about risking her life for a <em>stranger</em>?  Not even family, a total, complete stranger, even if she’d sort of met him before.  Didn’t Uncle <em>Wordy</em> care enough…  At that, her magic sparked, pulling her gaze sideways.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Wordy choked back a scream as lava slithered down his back, leaving agony in its wake.  His hands, his <em>body</em>, were shaking too much to get his uniform off and his healing bracelet was shining emerald, a sure sign that he was in deep, deep trouble.  It couldn’t be the Parkinson’s, though; it had happened way too fast for that.</p>
<p>One hand brushed the front of his uniform as he tried, once again, to keep his fingers steady long enough to unbutton it.  The fabric moved, just enough to push against his chest; a sharp gasp escaped, tears of pain leaking down.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hurts, it hurts, get it off.  Someone just get it off; please, somebody get it off.</em>
</p>
<p>Help, he needed help, but the hostage came first.  The <em>call</em> came first.  Gray eyes drifted closed as stubborn will pushed the pain down.  All he had to do was hold on.  Hold on until the fire was out, then his team could help <em>him</em>.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Sam was just opening his mouth for another scold when Alanna turned her head, jerking back with a horrified gasp.  Then the girl was gone, racing past the infuriated SRU cops towards a nearby shed.  The sniper whirled; his yell caught in his throat when he saw <em>who</em> she was running towards.</p>
<p>“Wordy!”  It might’ve been Lou, it might’ve been Spike.  Heck, for all <em>he</em> knew, that had been his <em>own</em> voice.  Sam didn’t care as he hurtled after ‘Lanna, reaching the sweating, semiconscious man in seconds.  Mentally, the blond cursed.  He should’ve <em>known</em> Wordy would only stand down if he was in trouble; one of them should’ve been <em>with</em> him and never mind the stupid fire that ‘Lanna had taken care of <em>anyway</em>.</p>
<p>In seconds, all of them had converged on their backup team leader and Jules had sent Barry running for EMS.  Wordy’s feeble paw at his uniform, plus the fact that he’d already shed both vests, clinched the sniper’s next move.  “Guys, we gotta get that off,” Sam ordered, crouching down next to his friend.  “Jules, get <em>those</em>,” he pointed to the vests, “out of the way.”</p>
<p>Jules yanked them away as her boyfriend waved Spike and Lou into position.</p>
<p>“Lou, keep him upright; Spike, help me get the shirt off.”</p>
<p>Alanna pried the top button open, but scooted towards Jules as the men took over.  Spike pulled the tucked in part of Wordy’s uniform free while Sam worked the velcro and the zipper.  Underneath the uniform, their teammate wore a close-fitting white shirt, but across his chest, the shirt was stained with a yellow streak.  Grimacing, Sam forced himself to ignore the shirt; one thing at a time.</p>
<p>“We’ve got a stretcher.”</p>
<p>The team looked up at that, then Barry and the paramedics got out of the way as Team One lifted their injured man up, carrying him over to the stretcher and letting him down again.  Once he was down, Spike worked one arm out of the uniform and took over support duties while Lou handled the other arm.</p>
<p>Sam didn’t bother to wait until Lou was done; as soon as the uniform was off the left arm, he yanked the undershirt up, drawing an involuntary yelp from Wordy as the sharp movement pulled the shirt away from where it had <em>stuck</em> to numerous patches of skin.  Though Sam winced, all guilt for accidentally hurting his friend disappeared; every last <em>inch</em> of the scars on Wordy’s back was red, inflamed, and weeping a putrid yellow pus that was leaving open skin and sores in its wake.  The scar across his chest was doing the same, but the scars from their Sergeant’s Animagus form remained as they were.  Wide, angled, and looking as though a giant bird had attacked the constable, but with no sign of infection.</p>
<p>“ ‘Lanna!” Sam barked.</p>
<p>“Copy,” the red head acknowledged, reaching up and resting one hand on the upper portion of Wordy’s back, well above the infected scars.  Softly, firmly, she whispered, “Ahlúttre þá séocnes. Þurhhæle bræd.”</p>
<p>They all saw the violet magic skitter across their teammate’s back, sinking into the inflamed flesh, but nothing happened.  Confusion twisted the girl’s face and she tried again, her magic once more <em>attempting</em> to heal the injured man.  Fear shone, fear they all shared.  What on <em>Earth</em> could resist <em>Old Magic</em>?</p>
<p>Sam’s eyes darted between the scars and the frantic Alanna, thoughts flying almost faster than he could think them.  Why wasn’t the healing working now when it had worked before?  And why weren’t <em>all</em> the scars inflamed?  When Wordy had gotten kidnapped, Spike had confirmed that the heat from the nearby boiler had made <em>all</em> the scars react, not just the knife wounds.  Wait…</p>
<p>The <em>knife</em> wounds.  Wounds inflicted by a goblin-made knife embedded with poison; a poison which did not <em>kill</em>, but instead inflicted incredible suffering.  Poison that tainted even the <em>blood</em> from the wound.  Poison…that <em>Sarge</em> had <em>neutralized</em>.</p>
<p>“ ‘Lanna, keep trying,” he ordered.  “Spike, Jules, Lou.”  They nodded, understanding.  Don’t let the paramedic near while Alanna was using magic.  Glancing over, Sam blinked.  Griggs had herded both Barry and the paramedic away; when the Fire Captain turned, the sniper saw in the man’s eyes that he <em>knew</em>.  He knew about the magic and had probably already guessed what ‘Lanna was trying to do.</p>
<p>A shuddering gasp from Wordy recalled the sniper to his task.  Setting his jaw, Sam hurried away from the stretcher, praying Ed had managed to catch their erstwhile boss.  He had a nasty feeling that <em>Sarge</em> was the only one who could heal Wordy now.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Funny.  He hadn’t even realized how much the pressure had built up, festering within him and poisoning every action, every decision – until Eddie had pushed him too far.  Hadn’t realized how bad his <em>own</em> emotional state had gotten until he’d screamed the truth at his best friend.  He hadn’t even meant to yell at Ed; it had just…happened.  It had just exploded outwards, hate and guilt and shame lashing out at the closest target, digging for the harshest, most hurtful words to use, to drive Eddie away so he could be <em>alone</em>.</p>
<p>Except Eddie had <em>stayed</em>.  He’d listened and he’d heard and he’d reached out, refusing to leave Greg alone to fall.  A precious, priceless gift; he didn’t deserve it, but he wasn’t about to slap it away.  Ed would just whack him over the head anyway.</p>
<p>The emotions still rolled within him, twisting his gut, but their intensity had fallen away.  He felt…cleaner.  Relieved, in a way, to have gotten it all out, even if it meant Eddie knew about the whole…magical enslavement thing.  He trailed behind his team leader, pretending not to notice the other man’s frequent glances back.  He deserved it, after the way he’d run away and abandoned his team.</p>
<p>“Greg, stop.”</p>
<p>Startled, he looked up.</p>
<p>Fond exasperation shone.  “Greg, you <em>never</em> yell at me like that, except you just did.”</p>
<p>Parker flushed, ducking his head.</p>
<p>“No, Greg, stop, really, I mean it,” Ed insisted.  “You were hurting and you needed help and we just offered you that radio, expecting you to save the day.  Heck, I’m surprised you didn’t bawl us out right then and there.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t excuse what I did.”</p>
<p>Ed whacked him across the chest, lightly, but enough to make his point.  “Boss, you made a mistake.  <em>A</em> mistake, which is a heck of a lot better than <em>I’d</em> do in your shoes with that much hanging over my head.  We had no right to put you on the spot like that; we shouldn’t have forced you to choose between saving Griggs’ life or saving your own.”</p>
<p>His gaze lowered again and his team leader huffed.</p>
<p>“If I have to drag you back to that nook so you can yell at me some more, I’ll do it, Greg.  Now will you <em>quit</em> it?  You ran away, but we <em>shoved</em> you into it.  If nothing else, <em>Jules</em> should’ve noticed how bad it was getting.”</p>
<p>Greg flinched.  “You know why she didn’t.”</p>
<p>Blue never wavered.  “Not an excuse.”</p>
<p>Parker froze, hazel darting to meet Ed’s.</p>
<p>“Look, I don’t know <em>why</em> the you-know-what was trying to keep us from noticing you needed help, but I was able to fight it off when I actually took the time to <em>look</em>, so Jules should’ve noticed and done whatever she needed to.  She’s your second, Boss, and she should’ve <em>acted</em> like it.”</p>
<p>The Sergeant nodded, throat tight.  He had to admit, a part of him had been surprised when Jules hadn’t pressed him in the truck.  Words were his gift, his allies in the good and the bad, until guilt, shame, and hate had united to silence him.  Why hadn’t Jules picked up on his lack of response?  Bitterness whispered and he shook it away; Jules might’ve put <em>Sam</em> before all her other teammates, but she did still care.</p>
<p>“Ed!”</p>
<p>Both men turned, Greg’s brows rising at the frantic yell.  Blond hair ducked through the crowd of firefighters and paramedics, the pace alone evidence that something was wrong.  Tension spiked, his gut twisting and stress bearing down as if his ‘debate’ with Eddie had never happened.  By that alone, Greg knew he was <em>far</em> from okay; the thought of work induced fear and panic instead of the desire to, once again, keep the peace.</p>
<p>“Ed!”</p>
<p>“Here, Sam!” Ed called back, drawing desperate sapphire around.</p>
<p>Relief shone in the sniper’s gaze and he hurried forward, reaching his teammates in mere seconds.  “Wordy,” he gasped out.  “He’s down, needs help.”</p>
<p>Determination surged, pushing aside his own problems; Greg strode past the blond, already reaching inwards to flick the ‘team sense’ on once more.  “Talk to me, Sam.”</p>
<p>Sam whipped around, catching up to his boss in two strides while Ed scrambled to keep up.  “Wordy took over when Ed left,” he began.  “Jules started trying to negotiate and the rest of us were trying to figure out a way in.”</p>
<p>A sharp, acknowledging nod.</p>
<p>“I think it was when the fire reached the second floor; Wordy tapped me on the shoulder and told me to take it.”</p>
<p>“Take over as team leader?” Ed demanded.</p>
<p>Sam nodded frantically.  “He was sweating really bad, but the call came first.”  Self-censure flashed.  “I should’ve had Lou stand down, keep an eye on him; we couldn’t get in <em>anyway</em>.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Lane inquired.</p>
<p>The sniper shook his head.  “Griggs shut all the windows; if we’d opened up anything, the rush of oxygen would’ve caused a fireball.”</p>
<p>Greg winced at the image.  “So Wordy put you in charge…what happened next?”</p>
<p>It was Sam’s turn to cringe.  “Um…the fire went out, but no one came out for a couple minutes.  Jules kept trying to get Griggs to respond and I started getting a tac plan ready for entry.”</p>
<p>“No fire, no fireball,” Ed concluded.</p>
<p>Made sense, so why was Sam shrinking in on himself?  “Sam?” Greg pressed, a wary note in his voice.</p>
<p>“Boss, I swear we had no idea.”</p>
<p>The hair on the back of his neck stood up.  “Sam?”  Warning and a demand to explain, <em>now</em>.</p>
<p>“They came out through a trapdoor in the roof,” Sam whispered.  “Griggs was hauling the arsonist, just about dumped him off the edge, and then…”</p>
<p>The pieces clicked together.  “ ‘Lanna.”</p>
<p>“Wait, <em>what</em>?” Ed blurted.</p>
<p>His stride quickened.  “She hit the kill switch, didn’t she, Sam.”</p>
<p>Sam nodded, nerves and a hint of awe in his gaze.  Ed was less impressed.  “Greg, what the heck?  Why would <em>she</em> be here?”</p>
<p>If he was right…  Greg shook the thought away.  “Sam.  What about Wordy?”</p>
<p>Guilt and shame replaced nerves and awe.  “We didn’t even notice, Boss, but ‘Lanna <em>did</em>.  He was down, sweating worse than Griggs and that arsonist.  He took his vests off, couldn’t get the uniform off.”</p>
<p>“Shaking too much?” Greg guessed, earning a sorrowful nod.</p>
<p>Sam drew in a fortifying breath.  “Boss, it’s the knife scars.  And ‘Lanna can’t heal him.”</p>
<p>For a moment, he thought he must’ve misheard.  But Ed’s gawp and Sam’s grave expression convinced him that he had not.  Inside, the ‘team sense’ roared to life and he flinched as raw <em>agony</em> slammed him.  Wordy.  He stumbled, then his fists clenched and he shot forward, running for his constable.</p>
<p>
  <em>You cannot have my friend.</em>
</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Ed hardly spared a glance for Sam as he took off after his boss, worry spiraling through him.  Not just for Wordy, but for <em>Greg</em>.  After all, the <em>last</em> two times Wordy had been in trouble, Greg had pulled his ‘Greg Parker of the SRU and don’t tell <em>me</em> about limits’ stunt.  The first time, he’d been oblivious, the second time, he’d tried to stop Greg and been overruled.  But given his friend’s current state of mind, plus the fact that he’d <em>already</em> used magic for that repair charm and the silencing ward, Ed had to wonder how much his friend had <em>left</em>.</p>
<p>And…and <em>why</em> did it <em>always</em> have to be <em>Greg</em>?  Why did they just keep piling on the pressure, expecting <em>Greg</em> to save the day?  Why was it that Greg <em>himself</em> kept putting his own health and wellbeing on the line whenever his team was in trouble?  Something about that snagged at Ed’s thoughts – sure Greg had always backed his team, always been their steady rock whenever trouble threatened, but his boss was smart enough to know he <em>had</em> to take care of <em>himself</em> if he was going to take care of <em>them</em>.  When had that changed, <em>why</em> had that changed?</p>
<p>Was it possible that, just as the magic had concealed Greg’s <em>true</em> emotional status from the team, the magic was <em>compelling</em> Greg to put <em>them</em> first?  Pushing him to ignore his own limits and problems because the <em>team</em> came first, no matter what?  He couldn’t dismiss the idea out of hand and that scared him.  What better check on the ‘king’s’ authority and ability to control than to insure that he couldn’t betray his ‘vassals’ because <em>their</em> wellbeing was more important than his own?</p>
<p>To interfere <em>now</em> was to risk breaking his promise to Greg, but Ed solemnly promised himself to bring it up later.  If the magic was influencing <em>all</em> of them, then they needed a second opinion from someone <em>outside</em> of the whole mess.  Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to give them an honest assessment and ideas for how to override the magic.  Stop it from controlling them.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Greg hardly noticed Jules and Spike scrambling out of his way as he reached Wordy’s side, inspecting the man’s bare chest and back.  How his constable wasn’t screaming his head off, he didn’t know; the scars were openly weeping an acrid smelling pus that was causing even <em>more</em> damage and the ‘team sense’ was swamped with the brunet’s mental pleas for the pain to stop.  Although the earlier telepathy had been ‘audible’ to all, Greg forced the ‘team sense’ to maintain a strict two-way connection.  <em>No one</em> <em>else</em> would hear Wordy’s plaintive whimpers and pleas, not even <em>Eddie</em>.</p>
<p>Hazel flashed briefly to the scars on Wordy’s arms, but those scars were fine.  Only the knife wounds.  Only.  Ha.  Glancing to his niece, he offered a brusque, “Poison?”</p>
<p>Surprise gleamed before understanding broke through and she nodded.  “Possible.  I’ve been trying to heal the infection.”</p>
<p>“But that won’t work if the poison’s still there, will it.”</p>
<p>She nibbled her lip.  “Could try a bezoar, but it doesn’t work on all poisons.”</p>
<p>If they’d had a bezoar handy, he would’ve tried nonetheless, but…  No, the Sergeant realized, best to try all options, rather than blithely ignoring a <em>potential</em> cure just because it would take time to get ahold of.  Grimacing, Parker shifted, looking to Eddie.</p>
<p>“Call Locksley,” the team leader confirmed.  “On it, Boss.”</p>
<p>Swinging back to Alanna, Greg asked, “What about your tears?”</p>
<p>Reluctance shone.  “I could, but…”</p>
<p>“Phoenix tears work best if they’re applied right to a fresh wound,” Sam offered, leaning in.</p>
<p>“We have to break the skin?” Jules inquired, earning flinches from the men.</p>
<p>“Pretty much, yeah,” Sam breathed.</p>
<p>Greg cringed internally at the idea of <em>adding</em> to his constable’s present suffering.  Determined, he pummeled at his memory, trying to extract more information on <em>how</em> he’d been able to heal Wordy <em>before</em>.  It didn’t help that it had been the <em>gryphon</em> who’d healed Wordy, not <em>him</em>.  But after a minute or so, a foggy memory rose, eking a fresh wince from him.  He’d…<em>licked</em>…Wordy’s wounds?  That was…more than mildly disturbing…  Eyeing his friend’s back, he shuddered at the idea of <em>repeating</em> the maneuver.  No.  Just…no.</p>
<p>“Uncle Greg?”</p>
<p>He glanced down at his niece, resting one hand on her shoulder.  “You got an idea, <em>mia nipote</em>?”</p>
<p>Violet gazed up at him.  “Maybe…maybe if we both use our magic?” she suggested.</p>
<p>Shifting to meet her gaze, he kept his expression serious.  “You know how I did it last time?”</p>
<p>She shrugged.  “I can guess, but you didn’t have your magic.”</p>
<p>No.  No, he <em>hadn’t</em> had his magic, so how…?</p>
<p>The teenager twisted her hands together, uncertain.  “A gryphon’s magical, Uncle Greg.  You didn’t have <em>your</em> magic, but gryphons are protectors.  Even without your magic, <em>that</em> didn’t change.”</p>
<p>Thoughtful, Greg concluded, “So I was still able to do <em>something</em>, but I couldn’t…finish the job?”</p>
<p>A tentative nod.</p>
<p>Huffing, the Sergeant cocked his head to the side.  “Any idea how I can do it…<em>differently</em>…this time?”</p>
<p>One hand rested on his chest, her magic dancing around her fingers, and he <em>understood</em>.  The links – he had a <em>direct</em> connection to Wordy, one which would bypass any buffers and allow his – <em>their</em> – magic to attack the poison directly.</p>
<p>Barely moving his lips, he murmured, “Skin to skin?”</p>
<p>Her free hand reached up, twirling a lock of hair.  Then she nodded and shifted her grip to his wrist.</p>
<p>In turn, he twisted towards Wordy, his own free hand landing on the constable’s chest.  Pain-filled gray met his eyes, the plea in them breaking his heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>‘Please, Sarge, make it stop.’</em>
</p>
<p>He nodded once and hazel turned scarlet.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Violet surged, twining with scarlet, but this was no lending of power.  Phoenix and gryphon, side by side, reached out through the gryphon’s link to the Squib on the stretcher.  Tears shone in the phoenix’s eyes, vanishing into her core rather than falling on the wounds themselves.  And in the silence between souls, the gryphon snarled challenge, furious that poison would <em>dare</em> to linger in one of <em>his</em>.</p>
<p>The Squib bit back a howl of anguish as the letters on his back and the slash across his chest burst all at once, infected ooze and tainted pus dripping down onto healthy skin.  Another held the Squib upright, keeping him from collapsing.</p>
<p>From within the wounds, magic glowed, red and violet all at once.  The gryphon’s magic banished the poison, neutralizing what little was left, what had <em>festered</em> beneath the surface for months upon months.  The phoenix’s magic wrapped around the injuries themselves, gently pulling the flesh back together, knitting it together even as her power served as a balm for the pain.</p>
<p>“Lou.”</p>
<p>The man nodded once and snatched up the Squib’s ruined shirt, using it as a makeshift towel to wipe the infected debris away.  He winced at the open wounds left behind, but already they were beginning to close over.  He handed the shirt turned towel to the woman who’d worked her way in next to him and she attended to the slash across the Squib’s chest.</p>
<p>Gryphon magic nudged itself towards phoenix magic, offering to bolster the fire bird’s healing powers.  In a dignified manner, the phoenix declined, requesting only that the gryphon keep the link open.  Her magic spread, from the first wounds to the last wounds, all of them slowly healing.  The gryphon braced the smaller, but otherwise held his position, letting her handle the poison’s aftermath.</p>
<p>Long minutes ticked by, the Squib’s harsh pants and heavy breathing easing as the pain died down.  At last, the phoenix shook her head and withdrew her magic.  The healing was not complete, but the Squib’s body could take no more.  Still, the newly inflicted sores and open wounds were gone and the infected, weeping scars were well on their way.  The flesh was still open to the air, but stitching and bandaging could finish the job.</p>
<p>* * * * *</p>
<p>Greg supported his niece, letting his hand drop away from Wordy.  His constable still looked <em>terrible</em>, but the mithril healing bracelet had shifted back to blue and the infected, poisoned scars had been dealt with.  Magic could only heal so much at one time before the body forgot how to heal itself; best to let the paramedics and doctors handle the rest of the damage.</p>
<p>He felt…drained.  Not as bad as either of the other two times he’d forced his magic to work long enough to save Wordy, but he could tell that he was all but tapped out.  Alanna was probably tapped out, too, but that would give them time to really <em>talk</em>.  Assuming they could both stay awake…</p>
<p>“Okay,” he whispered, well aware Eddie was back.  “Ed, get those paramedics over here and let’s get Wordy to the hospital.”  He lifted his head.  “No Healers.”</p>
<p>His team leader nodded acceptance.  “Boss?”</p>
<p>A wan smile peeked out.  “I don’t suppose I could beg a ride home?”</p>
<p>Ed’s eyes sharpened, then he smirked.  “Sam, you handle the rest here.”</p>
<p>“Copy,” the blond sniper acknowledged.  “Debrief tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Monday,” Ed countered.  “I’ll call you two with the chief’s decision.”</p>
<p>That, Greg realized, was probably best.  Honestly, he wasn’t sure he was even going to make it to the truck.  Then Eddie’s hand was on his shoulder and he let the other man handle the steering, even as he gently shepherded his niece.</p>
<p>“Greg?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“I could sign those papers for you; they’ll never know the difference.”</p>
<p>His mind was a complete muddle, but he knew one thing.  Much as he <em>longed</em> for the relief of being <em>free</em>, he couldn’t.  He’d run away once, he couldn’t do it again.  It was horrid, it was awful, and…</p>
<p>This was where he belonged.  Come hell or high water, he <em>belonged</em> here.  To leave, to walk away; it would be a betrayal on so many levels.  As bad off as he was, if he <em>left</em>, it would be worse.  No, running wasn’t the answer and it never <em>had</em> been.</p>
<p>“No, Eddie,” he whispered, grateful beyond measure for his team leader’s willingness to <em>let</em> him go.  “Let’s keep the peace.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ed Lane let himself sink down in the empty locker room, grateful to be alone.  In the end, Greg and his kids hadn’t been at the picnic, but then, considering he’d had to half carry his boss into the apartment with a visibly tired Alanna trailing behind him like a duckling…  Yeah, not too shabby of an excuse for missing the picnic.</p>
<p>Greg had been out like a light as soon as he poured the other man into bed; he’d given Alanna an arched brow, honestly confused as to why both of them were so exhausted.  She’d huffed, then explained, “Uncle Greg…well…he’s <em>still</em> a Squib-born even if he likes pushing his limits every other day.”</p>
<p>Ed snickered.</p>
<p>A touch of thoughtfulness entered tired violet eyes.  “Me…”  A quiet sigh.  “I think I strained my core when I took on that Fiendfyre.”</p>
<p>The team leader shuddered even as he went on alert.  “You’re still recovering from that?”</p>
<p>Red hair bobbed in affirmation and Ed realized that it was yet another reminder that for all of Wild Magic’s power and advantages, its users could still push themselves to their limits and pay for it, just like everybody else.  Much as part of him wanted to believe otherwise, Wild Mages weren’t invincible superheroes any more than they were the irredeemable villains the magical world liked to paint them as.</p>
<p>Pushing aside that bleak reminder, the sniper ushered Alanna into bed and tucked her in, waiting until she was asleep before leaving her room and closing the door quietly.  Once done with that, he’d taken the opportunity to go through Greg’s apartment and remove his boss’s backup weapon.  As close as Greg was to the edge, he did <em>not</em> need access to weapons while off-duty.  Ed hated that it had come to that, resented that the <em>magic</em> had <em>hidden</em> the truth until Greg had been halfway off the <em>cliff</em>.</p>
<p>Sadly, he couldn’t change the past, but he could – and darn well <em>would</em> – change how things worked going forward.  And first on the agenda was finally getting a good idea of how the ‘team sense’ <em>worked</em> and what effects it had on them.  Part of him wanted to ask the kids, but…  Ed frowned thoughtfully.  The <em>kids</em> had Wild Magic, too, and one thing Greg had mumbled somewhere between the fire hall and the apartment had been something about Alanna’s Wild Magic.</p>
<p>Was it possible that Alanna’s <em>magic</em> had forced her to intervene?  Sure, the kids had intervened before, but <em>only</em> when a member of their ‘family’ was on the line.  This time?  Total stranger, so why had Alanna shown up?  The theory seemed insane, except…  Ed knew Greg’s magic had already pushed him into a number of risky situations.  Precedent, even if Alanna was a full Wild Mage and Greg was not.</p>
<p>The lean man pushed himself upright, pacing back and forth.  So…asking the kids was right out.  Roy and Giles didn’t know about the ‘team sense’…  He froze.  Revan.  Revan had Wild Magic and seemed to know <em>something</em> was up with Team One.  Even if the former Unspeakable couldn’t tell him about the ‘team sense’ directly, he could at least give Ed more information on <em>Wild Magic</em>.</p>
<p>It made sense, after all.  Wild Magic was powerful, but power like that usually came with downsides.  If they could figure out those downsides, then maybe they could mitigate them.  Maybe they could reverse the damage from the tainted magic.  And maybe pigs could fly and hell could freeze over.</p>
<p>Discouragement crept in; as deeply enmeshed as they were, it was entirely possible that each and every one of them was inextricably trapped.  The constable looked down at his hands, flexing the fingers.  Free will.  Practically an afterthought, something he took for granted, like oxygen and blood.  Until he’d found out that he’d <em>surrendered</em> that free will, given it away without thinking and forced his best friend to bear the burden.</p>
<p>An idea sparked.  <em>Greg</em> couldn’t break the ‘team sense’ and his own decision…it was permanent, it couldn’t be altered, but…  He lifted his head, clenching his fists.  “You never told us what we’d do to him,” he hissed at the ceiling.  “You gave <em>us</em> a choice, but You told <em>him</em> that he had to just suck it up; how is <em>that</em> fair?”</p>
<p>“You believe I have acted unjustly?”</p>
<p>Ed whipped around, eyes widening.  The Lion stood there, wisdom gleaming in amber eyes; wisdom and power far above anything humanity could boast.  His knees trembled, but he forced the words out any way.  “I thought You gave <em>him</em> a choice, too.  I thought he said <em>yes</em>, that he <em>wanted</em> the ‘team sense’.”</p>
<p>The great head inclined.  “My Father has many plans, Son of Adam, and all work together for the good of those who love Him.”</p>
<p>What kind of answer was <em>that</em>?  “How the heck is <em>this</em> supposed to be for good?”</p>
<p>Amber narrowed and Ed swallowed hard.  Great…him and his big mouth…  The Lion padded forward, right up to the lean constable; Ed struggled to hold still, to keep from breaking and running.</p>
<p>“Do not fear, Son of Adam,” the Lion rumbled, nudging his chest.  “You spoke honestly and I will not fault that.  Wait on Me and I will answer.”</p>
<p>“I don’t even believe in You.”</p>
<p>Amusement shone and the Lion nudged him again.  “Fortunate, then, Son of Adam, that <em>I</em> believe in <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>Before Ed could find anything else to say, Aslan was gone.</p>
<p>But in the Lion’s wake, Ed felt a new emotion, one he hadn’t felt all day and perhaps not for a very long time before that.</p>
<p>Hope.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The end, for now. Now, then, I realize that this is rather different from canon <em>Flashpoint</em>. After all, in canon <em>Flashpoint</em>, Greg was all better at the end of this episode, or at least, ready for another ten rounds. To that I say, piffle. You don't get over hitting the end of your rope and struggling with emotional issues <em>that</em> quickly. You don't get over depression and not trusting yourself that quickly.</p>
<p>That said, Greg did hit a turning point in this story and while there may be a few backslides along the way, he really only has one way to go at this point. Up.</p>
<p>As always, I do enjoy each and every comment left on my stories, so I encourage all of you to spare a few minutes, drop me a line, and I promise to get back to each and every one of you.</p>
<p>Moving on, we'll be charging full speed into the next story. As a side note for those who try to match my stories to the canon timeline, we are actually going to be in a space between Seasons 4 and 5. Believe me, when we get to Season 5, you will know, but it won't be the next story. All of that <em>said</em>, I was originally going to stick most religiously to my schedule, but I fear my glee for the next story has overwhelmed my patience. So we'll be starting "Face/Off" today (Tuesday, October 13th 2020) in the afternoon/evening hours.</p>
<p>And now an update from Ace Data Recovery as of last Friday, minus any names: "Just updating you on your case which is still in progress. The engineer is currently imaging the drive. When the drive is done reading, the case will be passed on to the next step in the recovery process, which is Data Processing (DP)"</p>
<p>I sent an email back, asking if they can confirm the presence of three very precious folders (one is titled My Fanfiction, so you can guess what's in there...) once the drive reaches Data Processing, but probably won't get an update until Monday at the earliest. If I do, I will update this note prior to posting.</p>
<p>See You on the Battlefield!</p>
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